The Master, the Warden, the Headmaster and the Deputy
by mak5258
Summary: Snape and Dumbledore enact an old tradition in the castle, hoping to gain a much-needed edge. More-or-less AU starting at book 6. Rated for language and smut.
1. Chapter 1

"This! This is why!" Dumbledore's portrait was shouting when Minerva finally arrived in the headmaster's office. Snape had sent her a note—a torn corner of parchment, folded once, informing her that her presence was required in his office immediately—almost an hour ago, and she'd put off responding for as long as she could think of excuses. "The Master of the Castle is _never_ supposed to be the headmaster of the school as well! I told you! I _told_ you!"

" _What_ is going on?" Minerva shouted, standing in the doorway and trying not to gape.

The portraits of the former headmasters and headmistresses were all awake, all looking down on the room, all silent. Dumbledore's portrait was shouting, though. And there was a phantom wind whistling through the room. Books and bits of parchment flew everywhere, getting caught in strange drafts; the delicate instruments scattered around the room trembled and let off various alarms, from oddly-colored smoke to piercing whistles.

"Where were you?" Snape bellowed, spinning to face her. His eyes were glowing; that was the first thing she noticed. A blue-white luminescence, like moonlight, subtle and yet glaring in its strangeness. His hair, longer than she'd seen it since she met him, had been yanked back into a bun at the crown of his head. His robes and coat were nowhere to be seen; his waistcoat was a muted green-grey, his plain white shirt had the sleeves rolled up and the top few buttons undone. Any thought she might have had, seeing him so casual, so _human_ , went out of her mind when she saw the deep black of the Dark Mark on his arm.

"There were—"

"Don't give me fucking excuses, Minerva!" he shouted, and she realized that she'd never heard him raise his voice before. "I am the Master of this castle; I can _feel_ the inhabitants move through the wards. You were in your office! You've been in your office for an hour, ever since I sent you the note."

"The forms," she said, though it was a ridiculous excuse and they both knew it. She'd been finding as many of those as she could since he'd been appointed headmaster, making his life as difficult as she could. "You, yourself, said that all disciplinary requests had to—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Minerva," he moaned. "I understand _why_ you'd rather fill out the bloody forms than have an impromptu meeting with me, but—"

He cut himself off, pain pinching his features, and he spun to face the tall device that looked a bit like a trebuchet made of silvery tubes; it had begun letting off a crackling gold glow, as if it was preparing itself to discharge some electrical force. Snape touched one tube, then another, and then waved long-fingered hands over the top of it. The glow receded.

"You need to summon your Warden," Dumbledore said, his painted face concerned. "Severus—"

"I can't!" Snape said sharply, spinning to face the portrait behind the desk.

"She's being tortured, Severus. There is no other explanation for this sort of reaction, for the duration of the fluctuations."

"I know that." Snape paced, his attention snapping from one object to the next. The phantom wind in the room intensified, screaming against Minerva's senses, and Snape pulled his pocketwatch out of his waistcoat pocket. "It's been two hours."

"Summon her or she'll be dead!" One of the portraits Minerva didn't know, one that was usually only a source of a low droning snore, said.

"You think the castle is reacting now, boy, you just wait until you've lost your Warden. I told you, _I told you_! You should never have accepted the Mastery, never named a Warden!" This from a wizard with a monocle, an ear-horn, and a long curled wig, his portrait hung high on the wall next to the cabinet in which Dumbledore had once stored a Pensieve.

"No, it had to be done; Severus needed the advantage," Dumbledore said, his sharp blue eyes snapping to the wigged wizard's portrait only for a second before they locked onto Severus again.

"Minerva," Severus said, and he was suddenly directly in front of her, close enough to kiss. It was all she could do not to step back from him. "Help me. _Please_. I need your help."

She'd never heard him ask for help before.

He looked like the old Severus, the one who had been her student so long ago and, not so long ago at all, her friend.

"What?"

"Minerva," Dumbledore said from his spot on the wall, and her eyes slid past Severus and to the painting. "Minerva, I'm so sorry. Please, we haven't time for a proper explanation. Just trust him."

"Trust him? _Him_?"

"Yes, Minerva. Trust Severus."

"Like hell!"

The castle shook. She couldn't tell if it actually shook, or if it just seemed to from her place in the headmaster's office. Things were always different in that particular place, so attuned to the rest of the castle, so many objects in the room monitoring other things.

Severus swore again, spinning away from her.

"They're killing her," the portrait of a batty-looking old witch with a frizzy pouf of white hair adorned with multi-colored feathers moaned from a gilded frame near the door. "They're killing her and she's going to tear the castle apart from the pain of it!"

"Who?" Minerva asked. The batty-looking witch glared at her.

"The Warden of the Castle!"

"The what?" Minerva asked, feeling wrong-footed for the first time in a very long time.

"How are you even on your feet, man?" a headmaster observed from the far wall. He had a narrow face and wore a pointed black hat with a crook at the tip, and his frame was probably the least ornamental of all of them. "Call her to you." His tone was gentle.

"She will make it," Severus growled at the portrait, then turned to Minerva, his glowing eyes wide, his hand extended to her, beseeching. "Minerva, please. Help me. The wards… the castle…"

"There is no time to explain, Minerva," Dumbledore said, his voice too intense to be properly conciliatory. "Just know that it is imperative for you to do your part as Deputy. Right now."

She hesitated only a moment longer before stepping into the room properly. All of the devices monitoring the wards were showing tension, and her wand was keyed to be able to make adjustments. She did, watching Severus in her peripheral, at first because she feared he'd attack her once her attention was diverted, and then because he was doing three times the work that she was and entirely wandlessly.

Almost a full hour passed, and then the wards snapped back to their usual settings. Severus stumbled back, gasping, and sat down hard on the edge of his desk. A stack of papers—a teetering tower of disciplinary requests, actually—fell to the floor, joining the mess of other parchments and office detritus that had been floating about since before she'd entered the office.

"Call her to you _now_ ," the headmaster in the plain frame instructed, his tone still gentle but with steel under it now.

The witch arrived before he could call her. There should have been a crash or a scream, but it happened silently. One moment, the headmaster and his deputy were alone, the next there was a figure on the floor at the center of the room. She lay on her side, half curled into herself.

Severus was on the witch in an instant, wand flicking up and down her body, and then he was chanting low and soft. Blood evaporated from her skin, wounds healing a bit more with each pass of his wand. There were soft chinking noises now and again, and Minerva saw glittering stones—crystals? diamonds?—dropping from the witch's wounds and onto the stone floor.

"The Warden of the Castle," the batty-looking headmistress in the frame by the door said, almost sounding proud.

"What is that?" Minerva asked, moving closer to the portrait, hoping for an answer.

"Well, it's hardly common practice these days," the portrait said, her focus on Severus and the witch as she spoke. "It used to be the way things were done, especially when witch burning was in vogue.

"The castle is sentient, as I'm sure you're aware. There are four people that it talks to—the Headmaster of the School, the Deputy Headmaster (or Headmistress, of course), the Master of the Castle, and the Warden of the Castle. The Head and Deputy see to the people in the school, of course, and they've taken care of the rest since there hasn't been anybody else in centuries, but when there is danger, it's best to have all the positions filled.

"It's highly irregular for the Master to be the Headmaster as well; quite unhealthy, actually. The castle is routing much too much power through one vessel. Especially with the Warden away.

"The Warden of the Castle is aware of the castle the way the Master is, but only when he—or she, in this case—is physically present. She's the one who has the most interaction with the castle. When these things were more usual, the Warden was usually given the position of caretaker during peacetime, actually.

"But these two are a bit of a desperate plan. They enacted the old spells, accepted the positions even though he'd be acting as Headmaster and Master, and she wouldn't be in the castle if all went to plan. Idiot children."

"That's enough, thank you, Headmistress Levine," Severus snapped, leaning back from the prone figure of the witch. There was blood on his shirt, but not much of it. He looked exhausted, the dark circles around his eyes only exaggerated by the fading glow.

Minerva opened her mouth to direct a few questions at Severus, but the witch on the floor jerked, whimpered, screamed, whimpered again. Severus extended a hand, still sitting back on his heels. The last whimper stopped the moment his longest finger touched her temple. Minerva half expected him to stroke the witch's cheek—he had such a _look_ on his face that she'd never seen there before, let alone imagined him capable of—but instead he dropped his hand back to his lap as the witch sat up.

"Leave it to Dobby," the witch muttered. She folded her knees up to her chest and pressed her palms to her face for a moment, seeming to calm herself.

"The Malfoys' old elf?" Severus asked. There was a remarkable lack of bite in his voice.

"Yes. He rescued us. Well. He rescued Harry and Ron—he dropped a chandelier on me."

"Which rendered you unconscious, allowing the castle to summon you to safety."

"If I'd let it pull me back, it would have given everything away. And Harry and Ron would have been in the Malfoy cellar without a lick of Occlumency between them."

"The castle almost bloody Apparated out to get you itself."

The witch laughed, though there wasn't much humor in the noise. Minerva recognized her, then. The laugh, the voice, the curls. Hermione Granger.

"I had to call Minerva in to help," Severus said. Minerva suspected he said it to alert Miss Granger to her presence.

"That bad, hm?" Miss Granger asked, shifting so that she was cross-legged in front of him, her hands in her lap. She turned a bit, smiled a closed-lip smile at Minerva, then turned back to the headmaster.

"You ought to stay on the floor; you were… it lasted for almost three hours. You're going to have aftershocks."

"Yes."

"Who—?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange."

Minerva didn't like the look that crossed over Severus's face. _Murderous_ didn't even begin to describe it.

She felt frozen on the sidelines of the conversation. She didn't dare move, didn't say anything. She watched them, reevaluating, wondering.

"You look awful."

"You say the sweetest things."

"You haven't been eating."

"We ran out of food."

"You should have called on the castle."

"And how would I explain that? 'Oh, I just found this roast growing in the forest. Try the carrots!' Yeah, right. You might not like them, but they're not idiots."

"Beg to differ."

Minerva finally burst. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"

* * *

A/N: Well. Welcome to the latest "big project." It ties together more than a few plot bunnies that have cropped up and never quite fit anywhere else. It's going to be slow-going at first so far as updates go; I'm trying to work out how I want to layer some of these storylines together.

— M


	2. Chapter 2

ONE

"Have you thought about University at all?" Mum asked in that oh-so-casual way of hers. As if the reason she'd asked for help putting dinner together hadn't been working around to a conversation about the future.

Hermione didn't stop chopping. They were having chicken noodle soup, Grandma Puckle's recipe. There was a lot of chopping and dicing involved. She'd habitually bunched the parsley and chopped at a 45 degree angle, the way fresh greens were almost always prepared for potions.

"I want to finish at Hogwarts first," she said, talking to the cutting board, pretending like it really was a random topic. "If I do well on my N.E.W.T.s, I might be able to get an apprenticeship."

"That's very old-fashioned, isn't it?"

"I suppose. Most of the Wizarding stuff is that way, though. I mean, you've seen the robes they sell for everyday wear." She glanced over her shoulder to smirk at her mother. The smile that was returned was tense at best.

"I just worry you're selling yourself short, dear. You have so many talents. There are so many options available to you."

"This isn't going away, Mum," Hermione said, scooping up the chopped parsley and adding it to the soup bubbling on the stovetop.

"What isn't going away?"

"I know you were hoping sending me to Hogwarts would train it out of me—and it has gotten rid of those uncontrolled bursts, thank goodness—but it won't," Hermione said. She picked up a dishcloth and wiped her hands just to have something to look at besides her mother. "It can't. That's not how it works."

"Darling—"

"I just thought you should know. It's not going away. It's part of me and part of my life, and that's how it's going to be."

"I can accept that, Darling." She was using her Understanding Voice, the one Hermione had always thought a little too condescending. "I don't like this group you've joined, though."

"They're fighting so people like me aren't second class citizens."

"They're vigilantes."

"They're activists."

"They're dangerous."

"Riding in a car is dangerous."

"Hermione-darling, please. Be reasonable."

"I'm being perfectly reasonable. My future hinges on this confrontation, Mum."

"Your future hinges on you being alive for it, Hermione."

"I'm not dropping out."

"I—"

Somebody knocked at the front door, saving them from the conversation. Hermione put the dishcloth by the sink, and said, "I'll get it."

The unmistakable shape of a pointed hat was silhouetted in the frosted glass of the front door. She froze for half a moment, taking her wand out of her back pocket. She'd expected somebody from the Order to visit last week when she'd returned home. Some form of communication, even just a letter telling her she didn't have to sit and wonder if the Ministry was going to prosecute her for destruction of property or something.

Or there was always the potential that a Death Eater would pay her a visit.

 _Death Eaters don't knock_ , she rationalized, hiding her wand behind her leg as she opened the door.

"Professor McGonagall."

"Hello, Miss Granger. What did you use to make your schedule manageable in your third year?"

"A Time Turner." She cleared her throat, thinking a moment before she came up with a question. "What book did you lend me at the end of the school year?"

"Laurel's _Animagi_."

"Will you come in?"

"Thank you, dear."

"Who's at the door, Hermione?" Mum asked from the end of the hall.

"What's going on, Professor?" Hermione asked, closing the front door.

"Are your parents at home?"

"Yes, but—"

"There has been a threat against you, Miss Granger. We have very little time." McGonagall looked down the hall to her mother, who had her eyebrows raised in open curiosity.

"You're from that group, then?" Mum asked, walking down the hall and hands worrying the dishcloth she must've picked up on her way out of the kitchen. It was domestic, grounding. Hermione swallowed back that first rush of panic, almost smiling when Mum stuffed one end of the towel into her back pocket.

"Mum, this is Professor Minerva McGonagall. Professor, this is my mum, Helen Granger."

\\\

The safe house was a bit like Grimmauld Place in that it had narrow halls and was more than a little gritty around the edges. It was smaller than headquarters, cozier. There wasn't an overblown portrait waiting to shout at her, which was nice.

"How long?" Dad asked, looking around the foyer. He didn't look unhappy, exactly. It had been an hour since Professor McGonagall had shown up at the house, and the panic was beginning to wear off.

"Indefinitely," Professor McGonagall said bluntly. She flicked her wand, sending the shrunken boxes that were all their worldly possessions to a neat stack in the front room. Her parents each had a bag and Hermione had her trunk. The rest was in the boxes or left behind.

"I beg your pardon?" Mum asked, letting her bag thump to the floor.

"Who's this, then?" an old woman—a witch, if the wand poking out of her skirt pocket was anything to go by—asked as she came into view at the back of the house. She reminded Hermione of gypsies in children's books. She had a long, flowing skirt the color of red wine, a billowy peasant top the color of white wine, and an assortment of scarves that would make Trelawney jealous. She didn't have the hoop earrings, but she did have a scarf wrapped around her head. Her hair was steely gray streaked liberally with white, her face was deeply lined, her skin tanned the deep brown of somebody who spends long hours in the sun, and she squinted at them like she needed glasses. Her right forearm was just a bit crooked, like a break had been badly set. Her teeth were atrocious. Her eyes were the pale gray of the old Pureblood families.

"Helen and Matthew Granger," Professor McGonagall said, smiling tightly. "This is Eileen."

"Read about _Hermione_ Granger in the damn paper," Eileen said, squinting in Hermione's direction. "You part of that lot that stirs up all the trouble."

Hermione glanced at Professor McGonagall, not sure if she should say anything. The professor looked pained, her lips pressed together as she followed Eileen deeper into the house.

* * *

A/N: First of all, thank you! The prologue hasn't even been up for a week and it already has 24 favorites, 40 reviews, and 91 followers. Holy shit. Honestly, one of my favorite things about all this is the feedback. I write the stories I want to read, and it's more than a little wonderful when you guys tell me it's something you want to read too.

And second, expect another update in about a week. Like I said before, I'm building this one piecemeal and it's slow going layering some of the storylines together the way I want them.

Thanks again!

—M


	3. Chapter 3

TWO

Hermione left the safe house with Professor McGonagall. She felt horrible, leaving her parents, especially with the old witch. She was not a pleasant sort of person. But the official story was that her parents had died. She couldn't hide out with them; she had to go someplace, be seen.

Grimmauld Place was very quiet. It wasn't headquarters anymore, but it was still an Order safe house. People were in and out. There were still meetings in the kitchen; Hermione got the impression that anything Dumbledore didn't want Harry to know about came through at Grimmauld Place instead of the Burrow. Like Harry wasn't allowed to know that her parents weren't dead. She was at Grimmauld Place so Harry and Ron wouldn't have so much time with her when the grief was supposed to be fresh and they didn't have schoolwork to distract them.

She'd had to make more than a few promises not to say a word about this or that. It was almost like they were testing her, giving her secrets and seeing what would happen. Fred and George threw her cheeky smiles whenever she saw them, and she wasn't sure if it was because they knew something or if that was just the way they were (or both).

Professor McGonagall stopped by every night for dinner. Lupin seemed to be in and out at random, but at least he said hello every time he was in. Professor Snape was in almost as regularly as Professor McGonagall, but she almost never realized he was there until he was on his way out.

Professor Snape disconcerted her. She knew he was a spy; she'd been told as much. At one point, however, he'd made the choice to become a Death Eater. The Mark hadn't been branded into his skin against his will. When she sat next to him at dinner one night (after a meeting, so the table was full for once), their elbows bumping occasionally because he was left-handed and she was right-handed and he was sitting on her right, she wondered if he thought she was an abomination. A witch with Muggle parents.

Six hours later, she was back in the kitchen. The long table was empty. The stove was cold.

She hadn't had a nightmare, but her scar—the long, jagged line bisecting her chest—itched badly enough to keep her awake. She'd left the room they'd given her to herself and pulled her dressing gown over her pajamas, making her way to the strangely dark room. It was a comforting, homey place even when it was empty.

Methodically, Hermione filled the kettle and arranged her tea things while she waited for the water. He arrived just as she finished pouring the hot water into her teacup.

"Granger?"

"Shit!" She fumbled with the kettle, setting it back on the stove more heavily than she'd intended. She was sure the clang would wake somebody—Tonks, the Weasley twins and Lupin had all elected to sleep at headquarters after the meeting—but there were no creaks from above.

"What are you doing up?" he asked. He had an eyebrow raised, like he wished he could take points for being out of bed after hours. He wasn't standing straight and tall like she'd always seen him, though. He leaned ever so slightly to the side, favoring his left leg.

"I couldn't sleep. I made tea." She stood there next to her tea steeping on the counter, and he stood at the far end of the table. "Would you like some?"

He opened his mouth and looked like he would refuse, but then he simply nodded and limped across the room to sit at the table. She poured a second cup and set it in front of him, automatically doctoring it up the way he liked it (because they might not speak, but they'd been in and out of the same house for the last two summers and she'd noticed how he took his tea). She sat, inhaling the steam off her cup, not looking at him.

"Did you have a nightmare?" He sounded surprisingly neutral. She glanced up at him and saw that he'd removed his frock coat while she'd been ignoring him. He looked much more like a person without the stark black coat.

"No, sir," she said, putting her eyes back on her tea. It was still too hot to drink, but she sipped it anyway. She glanced up at him again and saw that he was waiting for an answer. "I just couldn't sleep."

"Hm."

They sat in silence. Upstairs, the floorboards creaked and the toilet flushed.

"Have you finished your summer work yet?" he asked after whoever had been moving around upstairs had made it back to their bed.

She looked up again and couldn't contain the smirk. "Yes, sir. I have."

"Of course you have." He sounded resigned. (He ignored the smirk.)

The smirk turned into a smile and she shrugged. It was strange that he seemed to be trying to talk to her, even if it was just small talk. He didn't seem the type. Hell, he actively avoided any sort of conversation that wasn't absolutely necessary.

When she'd finished her tea, she got up and put her cup in the sink. He'd finished his first, so she took his cup to the sink, too. He nodded his thanks.

"Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, Granger."

\\\

Two days later, it happened again. That time he was bleeding, though.

"What happened?" she asked, setting aside the part where he was her teacher in favor of forcing his sleeve back out of her way and muttering one incantation after another. She'd patched up Fred and George enough in the past few years, when they'd been experimenting with their products in earnest, to know a few good Healing spells. Clear the area of mess, cleanse the wound, seal the wound, clean the area again, follow with Bruise Paste or a tincture to reduce inflammation as needed.

"Nothing, Miss Granger," he replied stiffly, but he didn't remove his arm from her grasp. She scowled at him, knew there was nothing she could do to make him tell her anything, and focused on the task at hand.

He had a deep slice, likely from a hex, through the meat of his forearm. It began just above his wrist, missed his Dark Mark by a centimeter, and ended an inch below his elbow. It was deepest toward his elbow, and the whole line of it bled freely despite the improvised tourniquet he'd had on it when he'd arrived.

She avoided touching the Mark, mostly because she wasn't sure if it would react to her touch. She cleared away the blood, cleaned the cut. His hand clenched when she cleaned it, and she had to wipe away more blood from the quick movement.

"Hold still," she muttered, not paying attention to his reaction.

It was a simple incantation to seal the slice. It would've taken stitches and weeks to heal if they were Muggles, but they weren't. She got Mrs. Weasley's overlarge first aid kit out of the cupboard and made him put his arm back on the table where she'd had it—he'd been about to roll his sleeve back down.

"Hold still," she told him again. This time she saw his glare.

The soothing paste to reduce inflammation was in a large round jar, and she carefully spread it along the fading line of the slice. Then she wrapped his forearm in a clean bandage. Once that was secure, she mended his sleeves for him and did up the buttons.

" _Now_ you can have your arm back," she told him, forgetting who she'd been helping. She looked away quickly, busying herself putting away the first aid kit and pouring them both tea.

He was gone when she turned back to the table.

* * *

A/N: So I guess "in about a week" means "at the end of the week." I forgot I had yesterday off.


	4. Chapter 4

THREE

He had never had occasion to notice it before that summer. Not really. In Potions, he hadn't needed to touch her— she'd never been injured and her technique had been perfect from the beginning, so he'd never had to correct a grip on the knife or the way she held an ingredient. He'd never had to watch her cast spells either, or at least he hadn't needed to pay attention.

She'd been holding his wrist when she cleaned the cut, and he'd felt her magic thrum through her as she cast the spells to clean and seal his flesh. The only person whose magic he'd ever been able to feel like that was Dumbledore's. He'd never met anybody powerful enough for their magic to manifest in an aura like that. Just himself and Dumbledore. And now Hermione Granger.

He'd left, mind already spinning with the potential of it. Dumbledore would never agree, of course. But Dumbledore was not long for this world.

* * *

Hermione sat on the stairs, waiting for somebody to burst out of the kitchen and yell at her. It was a matter of time. Professor Snape had just had that _look_ on his face. He'd seen her do it, and he'd been the one to yank her back into the apothecary after.

Oh, she was in so much trouble.

She'd joined Harry and the Weasleys to pick up school supplies in Diagon Alley. It had been wonderful to see them, even if Harry, Ron and Ginny had been so careful with her. The attack would have been a welcome distraction if it hadn't been so horrible—masked Death Eaters sweeping through the street, shop windows exploding, people screaming. She'd ended up in the apothecary with Snape, Harry and Ron had been down the street near the Quidditch shop with Mr. Weasley. Nobody had seen Mr. Fortescue since it happened.

The kitchen door opened, and she had to fight the urge to dash up the stairs. If she was in her room, at least the dressing down would be private.

Professor Snape swept out of the meeting, robes snapping. He looked at her and then kept moving.

The meeting let out ten minutes later. Nobody said a word to her, at least not about her spellwork. Tonks sat with her for awhile, and then Mrs. Weasley put her to work in the kitchen like it was any other evening. Lupin asked her if she'd heard from Harry lately.

* * *

Severus hissed, clenching his fists. It was a lucky thing that it was so late at night; there was nobody to see him fumble the landing.

He had paid dearly for Granger's spellwork. A curse landed on Yaxley in Diagon Alley, Dark enough that the Death Eaters present had assumed it had come from him. He'd let them assume. Better that than admitting it was from Potter's Muggle-born sidekick, making her more of a target. He could take the punishment.

Or he usually could. His back was a mess from Bella's little spell. Again. There was something wrong with his left leg from the knee down, but he hadn't had the opportunity to look at it.

He opened the door. It squeaked.

Granger was in the first bedroom on the right off the first landing. She'd shared a room with Ginny Weasley the previous summer, but she'd moved for whatever reason. It suited him fine.

He gritted his teeth. Dumbledore was traveling again, looking for a way to rid the world of the Dark Lord permanently. Going to Hogwarts to see Poppy would raise suspicion. That left Granger.

The stairs were likely to kill him. He took them one at a time, bracing himself on the hand rail as much as he could. He could feel his heartbeat throbbing in his leg. It was all he could do not to vomit.

At last, there were no more stairs. He limped to her door, growling when he found it locked. A wave of nausea almost overtook him when he wandlessly unlocked it. But it opened. Thank Merlin.

She was on her back. The pillow had slipped, so she was lying flat. Her hair, messy at the best of times, was in utter disarray on the mattress around her. The sheet was wrapped around her knees, showing off plaid pajama pants and a too-tight tank top. He was reminded of things he had been trying to forget. Things like how her use of the Time Turner meant she was of age.

"Granger," he said, but it was hardly a whisper. He almost vomited. "Granger."

She sat up straight, dark eyes snapping open.

"Professor." If she was surprised to find him in her bedroom, she didn't show it. She was out of bed in an instant, making her way silently to his side on bare feet. Why did it stick in his mind so much that she was barefoot? "Oh my god," she muttered, pushing him down onto the desk chair. The desk itself was piled with books, some of them spellbooks for the upcoming school year but mostly other tomes. "What happened to you?"

"The Death Eaters were less than pleased about what happened to Yaxley," he said. She froze. She was the only one who knew that he hadn't been the one to cast the spell. The Death Eaters had assumed it, but he'd out and out lied to the Order about it.

"I'm sorry," she said, and the sincerity of it made his chest tight.

"Shut up," he muttered, but there was no strength behind it. The tightness in his chest increased the feeling that he might vomit.

She kept talking despite his order, but changed topics. "You're bleeding horribly."

"There's something wrong with my leg."

The first time she'd healed him, it had been a confrontation. He'd been looking for Dumbledore, and he'd found her making midnight tea alone in the kitchen. She'd shoved him into a chair like she had now, and dealt with his injuries too swiftly for him to fight her off. He'd understood exactly the reason Potter and Weasley always had their homework ready to turn in, sitting in that chair in the kitchen. That had been a full month ago now; she wasn't half bad.

"The fuck did they do to your leg?" she asked, drawing him back to the present. She had him stripped of most his clothes, and he realized he was more out of it than he'd thought.

"Language," he said, but there was no heart in it. She ignored him.

She split his trouser up the seam with her wand, folding the flaps of it back up to his thigh so that she could see his injury. He didn't want to look, judging from her face. She'd dealt with it when they'd flayed his foot without making that face.

It hurt. It felt like a burn down to his bone. Actually, now that he wasn't so focused on getting up the stairs, he was fairly certain that whatever curse they'd put on his leg did have the bone smoldering inside its flesh.

She was muttering counter-curses she had no right knowing, but he certainly wasn't going to question her. It was working. It went numb after a bit, which was a godsend. He made the mistake of looking down and saw her passing her wand up and down along the bone of his lower leg, which was exposed to the open air. The flesh along the outside of his leg was entirely gone.

He leaned away from her and vomited on the floor. She ignored that, too.

"You'll want to cast a Silencing Charm," he warned her. "I'm about to start screaming."

"Already done."

* * *

Hermione gagged and cast a Bubble Head Charm on herself. They'd done something to the bone of his leg. The flesh had been roasting. The tendon had tightened, beginning to bend the leg, and the muscles had been clenched so tightly it was a miracle he'd made it up the stairs.

She supposed it was sheer bloody-minded stubbornness.

She'd cut away the worst of it, the blackened skin on the outside of his leg where the curse had hit. She'd improvised from there. Numbing, scraping away the blackened skin, carving out the cooked flesh beneath. She tried every counter she knew, and eventually the bone stopped radiating heat.

"Thank god."

He vomited again.

Once the curse was lifted, he started bleeding. She'd been wondering when that would happen. It was easier like that; she knew how to handle it. She was well supplied with Blood Replenishing Potions, especially since he'd begun coming to her regularly for this sort of thing. She'd thought patching up Fred and George had kept her prepared, but her small stock of bandages and potions had been no match for a single night tending to Professor Snape. She'd made more than one trip to the store for books, trying to learn about healing, and she'd been brewing in the basement at Grimmauld Place so that she'd have the potions she needed.

There were potions to regrow bones, and there were similar potions for flesh. She didn't have those, though. He'd be able to make what he needed later. She'd help him if he needed her to.

She stopped the bleeding, packing the wound with potion-soaked gauze that would keep out infection, and wrapped the lot of it up tight. She tried not to think about it as she moved on to the next injury.

His teaching robes were easy to remove. Three clasps at the neck, and they came away with a soft brush of heavy fabric. The frock coat beneath was more difficult; it had dozens of buttons down the front, and more at each wrist. And the coat was spelled to resist enchantment, so she couldn't flick her wand and have it off him. It had almost cost him his life once.

She was swearing under her breath by the end of it. He was shaking, but she couldn't tell if he was in pain or if he was laughing at her. It had been a shock the first time he'd laughed at her, really laughed. He had a nice laugh, strange enough, though it only seemed to happen when he was near delirious with pain.

"What the hell happened to your back?" she asked, taking her hand away from it bloody. She'd had it on his back to brace him while she pulled one of his sleeves off.

"Whipping spell, I'd guess."

"Jesus," she whispered. She'd seen the scars on his back from a similar spell, and older scars from a belt. She was fairly certain those belt scars were from his childhood; she hadn't asked. "Those bastards."

"Language," he said again, though it sounded more like habit than actual chastisement.

"Fuck," she whispered when a patch of skin came off with his shirt.

"Well it must not be as bad as my damn leg," he said, leaning forward so that she could get the coat and shirt out of the way. He stayed forward like that, bent in half on the chair, arms folded on his knees with his head resting on his arms. "That one actually shut you up."

" _You_ shut up," she said, poking him in the back of the neck like she would if he was Ron or Harry being difficult. She began slathering the necessary paste across his back, holding the skin together where there was enough of it left to do so. "You really should go to Madam Pomfrey. If not her, a proper Healer of your choice. I'm sure you know somebody who could help you."

"Any _proper Healer_ , as you say, that I would allow to touch my person would not touch a Death Eater." There was no bitterness, just a statement of fact. It made her heart ache for him, this lonely, wounded man with no one to turn to but the obnoxious student with her textbooks.

She didn't know what possessed her to do it, but she crouched down and put her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. She glared at him. "You have me, Severus Snape. You can call me a know-it-all as much as you like, but that won't make it true. I'm not much, but I will do what I can."

He didn't seem to know what to say. She didn't know what to say, either, so she stood up again and went back to tending him. The paste had done its work; he was ready for another coat. She conjured a bowl and filled it with water, then balled up yesterday's shirt to use as a cloth to wipe the old paste and blood off. Below was a thin back, shoulder blades and ribs prominent beneath pale skin. He had broad shoulders, but it was hard to tell because he was so thin. She began the new coat of paste. He was all wiry muscle under her hands.

He fell asleep. For some reason, that made her want to cry. Instead, she levitated him over to the bed and lay him on his side so that she could remove his boots and trousers. He had long, narrow feet to match the rest of him.

Stripped down to his boxers, he didn't look like the intimidating figure she was used to seeing, even when he was bleeding under her hands. He'd never fallen asleep on her before. It was just something not done, not by him. She wasn't sure if it was a trust thing, or if it was because she was his student. He was hard to read.

He was just a man, lying there on the bed. Vulnerable. Exhausted. Hurt.

Hermione cleared away the blood with a flick of her wand, and pushed the chair into its place by the desk. She was covered in blood, too. She stripped, switching out her soiled pajamas for an old oversized t-shirt.

She took the bloodied clothes to the bathroom and washed them in the sink, not sure how she felt about doing Snape's laundry. She had to rinse his socks out three times before the blood was gone. She hung everything over the rod for the shower curtain, carefully mending the split she'd put in his trouser leg. She rinsed the blood out of her hair, then used her wand to finish drying his clothes.

He was snoring when she returned to the room, and that was comforting. He was flopped on the narrow bed on his stomach, back still shiny from the paste. His wounds were sealed, still red and inflamed but no longer weeping blood or pus.

She folded his clothes over the chair, cleaning his boots with a flick of her wand and putting them under the chair. Somehow, of all the things that had happened that night, the clothes folded on the chair with the boots waiting underneath felt too intimate.

Shaking off the oddness, Hermione pulled one of the well-worn Healing texts out of the stack on the desk and double-checked it before casting a diagnostic on his leg. She wanted to cry with relief when it came up clear. Despite not knowing what she was doing, she'd gotten rid of the curse. He was missing a huge chunk of his leg, yes, but that wouldn't kill him.

* * *

He woke slowly, first noting the metallic aftertaste of Blood Replenishing Potion, then the soreness of his back, the softness of the mattress beneath him. Then his leg made itself known; he bit down on his fingers to keep the shout in.

Severus opened his eyes. The room was dim and not particularly familiar. It wasn't the Hospital Wing, his rooms at Hogwarts, or Spinner's End. The floorboards were faded; there were no rugs. He was on a narrow bed with unremarkable bedding and a surprising lack of pillows. Then he remembered: Granger. He was in Granger's room at Grimmauld Place.

He lifted his head, glad to find that, though the skin felt tight across his back, it didn't hurt any more to move. It was a smallish room. There was the bed, a matched desk and chair set, a boxy Hogwarts trunk, and a small bookcase next to the bed doubling as a bedside table. The room was meticulously clean except for the desk, which had books and scrolls stacked on it; no doubt she was already beginning on next year's texts.

His clothes were tidily folded over the desk chair. His coat was on the bottom, then shirt, then trousers, with his socks on top. His boots were tucked under the chair. It was a strange sight, the clothes he wore as a teacher right in front of a desk that could have been his when he was a student.

The student the desk actually belonged to was curled up in the window seat, sound asleep. It was a deep seat with a plush cushion, but it wasn't a good place to sleep. Her knees were up, supporting a big book, and her arms were on the pages in front of her. Her head was tipped down over her chest, no doubt working up to an excellent crick.

Severus eased his way into a seated position on the edge of the bed and had to stop to catch his breath. His bloody leg. Every time he moved or tried to move, pain shot up his thigh. The whole thing was wrapped in white bandages from his knee to his ankle, and he didn't really want to unwind it to look. It was unpleasant, whatever it was. It needed more treatment. There was something wrong.

He looked at her again while he caught his breath, but had to look away because the sight did nothing to help him breathe. She'd changed. Last night, she'd been wearing pajama pants and a tank top, but he must have bled on them. She'd changed into an overlarge t-shirt, and nothing else. The t-shirt had ridden up in her curled position, exposing the full line of her legs as well as an inch or so of plain black knickers.

She didn't look like a student. She looked like a woman. A desirable woman. A woman with shapely legs.

"Fuck," he breathed, looking down at his feet to keep his eyes from straying back up.

"Professor," she said, coming awake in an instant just as she had before. Did she always wake like that?

"Morning," he said through gritted teeth, suddenly very, very aware that he was sitting on a bed in his boxers, and she was standing right next to him. She was right there. He could reach out and touch her, run his hand along her thigh like he wanted to; pull her closer, lift the shirt and put his face just there, feel the heat of her quim.

"Barely," she said, sitting down on the bed next to him. The shift of the old mattress made him adjust his position to keep from bumping into her, but he forgot about his leg and those tantalizing thoughts—the ones about how he was now sitting right next to her on a bed, and how neither of them was fully clothed—were chased right out of his head by the pain in his leg. "You need this."

She ignored his pained breathing, and opened the book she'd fallen asleep with across both their laps. It was a book on Healing, the sort of reference tome usually found in a hospital on a dusty shelf. She had it open to a page detailing the uses of a particular potion, its ingredients and method written out on the opposing page.

Oh, that's right. He remembered now. She'd had to carve away most of the flesh of his lower leg.

He almost threw up. In fact, he probably would have thrown up if he had anything left in his stomach. Instead, he just gagged and tasted bile.

"You'll have to brew it," he told her bluntly. "I can't make it down to the lab."

"It's not a lab," she scoffed. "It's a room with a table and a cauldron."

He was inclined to agree, but he was feeling woozy again and couldn't say so. She didn't notice his lack of reaction, her finger running down the list of ingredients.

"Oh, shit," she said suddenly, tossing the book onto the bed behind them and standing up quickly. The movement jarred his leg and he hissed. "You've bled through it."

He looked down and saw that the bandage, which had been pristine white when he'd first sat up, was blotchy red in places, and there was a trickle of blood running down his ankle at the bottom of it.

"Here," she said, her hands on his shoulders. They were warm. The touch was nice. "Lay back."

He did as she directed, not that he had much of a choice. She'd retrieved two pillows, so he was somewhat propped up. He could see her unwrapping his leg, pulling out an alarming amount of gauze from _inside_ his leg, casting charms. She bound it all up again after packing in fresh gauze, then handed him a Blood Replenishing Potion.

"Do you want a Calming Draught? I think I have some somewhere." She opened the Hogwarts trunk and pulled out an ugly floral carpet bag, rummaging around in it. Bottles or vials, things made of glass, clinked together, and then she pulled out a single-dose vial of pale blue potion.

"Have you been brewing in the bathrooms of Hogwarts again?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"My parents' kitchen for this batch," she said, not reacting to the eyebrow at all. He scowled, but it just made her smirk at him. "And now I'm going to brew in a basement. How varied my life is." She handed him the vial, and turned away from him. She pulled a pair of jeans out of her trunk and pulled them on. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why watching her button the jeans felt more like a violation of her privacy than eyeing her knickers as she slept. "You should try to sleep."

"While I know you're brewing a potentially explosive potion in the basement? Not likely."

"Hence the Calming Draught," she said, looking at it meaningfully. He scowled, but unstoppered it and swallowed it down. He felt better immediately. It no longer bothered him that he was missing a large piece of his leg, nor that he very much wanted to run his hands all over the young witch there. "I'll be quick."

"Don't you dare rush it," he said, wiggling his shoulders to get more comfortable on the bed. His back was beginning to itch from the dried paste. "You'll blow yourself up."

"Yes, sir," she said, but she sounded amused.

* * *

Hermione wished the situation was different. If he weren't in real danger of bleeding out from the gaping wound that was his lower leg, or getting an infection, or even having the leg naturally heal too far for the potion to properly fill the gap… he'd been very sweet.

Yes, sweet.

Drugged on the Calming Draught, he'd been remarkably concerned for her welfare. Usually, he would've said she would damage his potions equipment, or waste ingredients, or blow the house up. Instead, he'd said she'd blow herself up. That was a tell, for him. He worried about her.

Of course, that should have been evident from the fact that the whole reason he was so injured was because of her. He was lying for her. She'd used a spell she shouldn't have. He'd been present, they'd assumed he was the one who had used it, because surely the innocent little Muggle-born almost-sixth-year couldn't know a spell such as that no matter how many books she read.

He'd lied for her. He'd kept her out of trouble with Dumbledore and the Order. Then he'd kept her from becoming a target for retribution from the Death Eaters. And he'd taken such a beating for using "excessive violence" in what was supposed to be an act, a pantomime of an attack on his part.

They said that Yaxley was still in St. Mungo's.

She pushed her guilt away, focusing on the task at hand. It was a complex potion. The ingredients were all common and on hand, but they had to be prepared just so, added at the right time. The cauldron had to simmer at a very certain temperature for a very certain amount of time. All jokes aside, it was a volatile potion and the threat of explosion was a real one.

It was nearly seven when she finished. Three hours hovering over the cauldron.

Hermione decanted the end result into the waiting glass, feeling some of the tension seep out of her. It had all gone as it should. The end result was a thin orange-red potion that smelled strongly of roast beef.

Out of habit, she cleared the mess before leaving the room, rolling her eyes at herself when she realized what she'd done. The mess could have waited; Professor Snape needed the potion.

He was awake when she arrived. He'd propped himself up against the head board and was reading her Potions essay, using one of the healing books she'd pulled off the stack last night as a lap desk. She recognized her own quill and the bright green ink Harry had given her for her birthday last year. Surprisingly, he wasn't scowling at her parchment. He was, however, thoroughly notating the margins.

"I wasn't finished with that," she lied, watching him viciously slash out a line.

"Yes you were," he said, not looking up.

"Maybe I was going to rewrite it."

He looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. She wondered why that raised eyebrow made her nervous when he was holding her homework in his lap but it hadn't earlier when they'd been sitting on the bed next to each other. She'd realized while she'd been brewing that they'd sat there next to each other, him only wearing boxers, and her wearing no pants. That should have been more awkward than it was.

"Granger, it is a rare essay indeed where I can do anything but comment on your syntax and dock points for comma splices. If you'd care to notice, most of my notations these days concern your choice of reference materials." He frowned, shooting a deliberate look at the books on her desk before returning his eyes to her. "As Draco Malfoy sits two rows over from you, I can hardly stop crossing things out. He does so like to report on your behavior to his father."

"Oh." She hadn't actually thought of that.

"I see you managed not to blow anybody up."

"Yes," she said, walking over and putting the glass on the little book shelf that acted as her bedside table. She conjured a few more pillows and shoved them under his ankle, elevating the injured leg. She knelt on the mattress, unwrapping the bandages and removing the gauze. She focused on the clinical aspect, the need to check for discoloration and swelling.

Meanwhile, Snape checked the potion. He opened the Healing book and compared the description and accompanying illustration to the contents in the glass.

"Well done," he said, surprising her enough that her hands stilled on his leg—in his leg—for a moment. She could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

"No, I understand," she said before he could say something scathing. She glanced up at his face. "There's nobody here to overhear you right now."

"Precisely."

He drank the potion, and then she quickly recast her Silencing Charm. He screamed and writhed, and she thought for a horrible second that she had poisoned him, that she had botched the potion. But then she saw his leg, watched the muscle grow, watched the gap in his leg fill up with flesh.

"It's over, it's over," she crooned, gripping his hands tightly. He'd tried to grab his injury, and she'd grabbed them, pinning them to the bed on either side of him. She'd had to rise up over him, to put her whole weight behind her hold on his hands to keep him in place. "It's over."

He was covered in sweat, his hair sticking to his face and neck. He was gasping for breath, his chest heaving as the pained panic faded. She realized that she was arched over him, her fingers interlaced with his.

He went limp under her, exhaling. She fell forward when he moved, ending up lying on him. "Sorry, sorry," she said, quickly extricating himself. Not before she noted all those wiry muscles she'd seen the night before, this time feeling them pressed to her. He was deliciously masculine. It was disconcerting.

She wandlessly Summoned her jar of Essence of Dittany and dribbled it over the new flesh of his leg. The skin reformed before her eyes, but he didn't even flinch. In a few seconds, it was over. His lower leg was entirely hairless and the new skin was pinker than the old skin. She ran her hand along the muscle, probing with fingertips when he didn't flinch.

It was her turn to go limp. She hadn't realized how tense she was. She felt like crying, actually. It was relief. It was her adrenaline finally running out.

* * *

A/N: Yep. I had a day off. Have another chapter! If you're very good, I'll post the next one Saturday :)


	5. Chapter 5

FOUR

He didn't come back for weeks. She saw him in passing, but he didn't arrive bleeding in the dark of night again. It was a relief. It meant he wasn't hurt badly enough to need her help.

She passed the time visiting with Tonks and the Weasley twins, and writing letters to Harry and Ron. The others were at the Burrow; she wasn't allowed to tell them where she was. She read a lot of books on Healing. When she couldn't sleep, she brewed in that makeshift lab in the cellar.

One such night, when she was finally tired enough to sleep, her bedroom door slammed open. She'd just crawled between the sheets after spending the evening packing for school—there were three days to go, but she'd be going to the Burrow in the morning and expected to spend most of her time reminding Harry and Ron to pack and finish the last of their homework.

"Whaddis it?" she asked sleepily, sitting up.

"Get dressed," Snape hissed, striding over to stand beside her bed. He looked extremely tall from that angle. And angry.

"I just got into bed," Hermione said stupidly, mind and mouth not quite connecting yet.

"Out. of. bed. Granger."

She stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over Crookshanks when he ran for the door.

"For the love of God," Snape said, grabbing her elbow to keep her upright. She blinked at him and he released her, glaring. "Get your ass to the kitchen."

He turned and left, and she continued to blink stupidly after him. She wasn't sure if it was the Muggle expression or the cursing that had surprised her more. She fished fresh socks out of her trunk and put on her old jeans and t-shirt. Pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she followed him to the kitchen, where he held out a dish of Floo Powder and looked down his nose at her.

She wanted to cross her arms and glare at him until he gave her more information—she'd patched him up for goodness sake; he could be civil—but she was too out of sorts. She took a pinch of the powder and stepped into the empty fireplace, then turned back to look at him.

"My office," he said, voice a low growl. She tried not to let her surprise show on her face.

He stepped out of the fireplace seconds after she'd cleared the soot off her clothes. It had been a cool, early-autumn day in London and her jeans and t-shirt had been perfect, but in the dungeons of Hogwarts it was cold. She wished she had her robes.

"Follow me."

She did. They left the office, walked down a few ill-used corridors, and finally went through a plain door set back in an elaborate alcove. There was a stone arch over the door, marking it out as something special.

The room was indeed "special." It was huge. A potions lab suitable to his status as a Potions Master. The walls and floor were stone, the ceiling was low. The far wall was entirely shelving, packed with stacks of cauldrons, vials, and potions equipment that she didn't recognize. On the right, a floor-to-ceiling bookcase took up most of the wall, filled with thick, ancient potions tomes. There was a door on the opposite wall which she guessed would lead to the store room for ingredients. On either side of the door were waist-height counters, the surfaces gleaming white stone. An island counter of the same height and material ran down the center of the room.

It was a fully appointed potions lab, much better equipped than the potions classroom. Some of the supplies were antiquated, surely, but it all looked much more functional than the sturdy stock kept at the school to teach with.

Snape flicked his wand in the general direction they'd just come, and a moment later a rough-looking rucksack and a crisp white shirt sailed through the door. He caught them, then held them out to her.

"Put these on."

She nodded, trying not to think anything of wearing his clothes. It was cold in the dungeon and they were obviously going to be brewing.

Hermione put the rucksack down on the nearest counter and slipped the shirt on over her t-shirt. It was too big for her, no surprise. She rolled the sleeves up and didn't bother to tuck it in, just buttoned it most of the way up and let it be big around her. She dug through the rucksack, noting that it had been Expanded. First out were dragonhide boots the similar in design to his, only plain brown instead of his black. They were knee-high, laced up the front, and had a very slight heel to them. They were a hassle to lace up but very comfortable; she stuck her trainers in the corner out of the way.

Dragonhide gloves were next, the same brown as the boots. They were very different from the one-size-fits-all gloves she had had to buy before first year for Potions and Herbology. These came up to her elbows and fit the shape of her hands and forearms exactly, as though someone had taken precise measurements and created them just for her. The palms and fingers were reinforced with an extra layer of dragonhide. There were tiny buckles at the wrists to adjust the tightness, then the gloves laced up along the outside of her forearms, tying at the elbow. There was a flap to cover the laces that had a tiny row of buttons and a buckle to match the ones at the wrists. They were extremely complex to look at, but once she'd gotten them on they were remarkably comfortable.

There was also a large dragonhide apron, brown. It was thick and heavy, a blunt and plainly functional thing. The strap went over her head, the bib covered the vital parts of her torso, and the skirt was long enough to cover her to the knee. There was a belt around her waist which she synched tight to keep it from flopping unnecessarily, and a pocket at each hip. It was heavy; it would take getting used to.

The last item in the rucksack was a pair of goggles. They were fairly straight-forward, though she'd never seen anything of the sort before. The band to go around her head was brown dragonhide like the rest of the things, and the eye-protection itself was charmed glass, unbreakable, unscratchable, fog-resistant.

Dressed, she looked up at him and almost smiled. He was wearing the same odd getup—goggles and all. The dragonhide of his was black, of course.

"What's happened?" Hermione asked, fiddling with the buckle on her glove. She had the overlarge shirt tucked into the gloves and her jeans tucked into the boots.

"Chop those," he told her instead of answering the question. There were ingredients flying through the air, sorting themselves out across the island counter, which had various implements arranged down it already. He scooped a mess of diced slugs off the counter and into a cauldron.

He'd indicated a container of fat roots, and she reached for them and a knife.

"And don't let the juices touch anything made of iron.

He tapped the burner beneath a many-chambered glass contraption. The flame roared up and the potion in the largest bottom chamber started bubbling and emitting a bright blue smoke, which traveled through the different chambers, changing from blue to green to purple to orange as it went.

Hermione focused on her assignment, chopping the roots, then dicing more leeches, then powdering a large fistful of crinkled brown leaves. As she worked, she kept an eye on the professor in her peripheral. He had six cauldrons going, and he practically jogged from one to the next. Each cauldron had the same potion brewing in it; a massive quantity.

The arithmancy of the potion was drawn out on the chalkboard near the door to the hall. As she ground beetle eyes, Hermione looked it over, trying to figure out what they were brewing. From the ingredients, she could guess that it was a healing potion for the liver and blood, but not much else. Several ingredients were charmed before they were added, and the final piece was a coil of dragon heartstring. It didn't make sense to her.

Curiosity piqued, she memorized the equation on the wall for later examination.

In an attempt to be sure she remembered the lot of it, Hermione closed her eyes and thought the equation through. It didn't come out right. Puzzled, wondering what she'd forgotten, she looked at the chalkboard again. She usually had perfect recall when she set herself to it…

"Sir," Hermione said, checking one more time just to be sure. Yes, there it was. He'd switched Rune alphabets a quarter of the way through in one of the variables. All things considered, it was a minor error: The Runes he had in place stood for the things they needed to, they just didn't match up with the rest of the equation, making it impossible to balance.

"What?" he snapped.

"Well, er." She wasn't sure how to tell him without ending up hexed or worse. Hermione walked over to the board and pointed to the Rune in question. She didn't have to explain more than that.

"Fucking hell."

He flicked his wand at each cauldron, Vanishing the lot of it. Hermione wanted to fall over. He'd just erased _hours_ of work.

They started again. She didn't say anything. She didn't dare.

She had fixed the equation and then watched as he checked it over. He'd nodded once, an almost staggering gesture of approval, and begun brewing again. She'd chopped and measured and stirred, he'd charmed and sorted and directed.

They finished the new potion but didn't bottle it. It stayed in the cauldrons, cooling, and Snape turned to her.

"We've just brewed the base for the antidote to the widest range of the Dark Lord's preferred poisons," he said.

"What's going to happen?" she asked, something cold and solid settling uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. She was surprised how hoarse she was, how quiet it was after going unused for so long, and how gruff it was with exhaustion.

He didn't say anything. In answer, he merely gave her the bleakest look she had ever seen on his face.

" _What's going to happen_?"

"The Hogwarts Express takes all the students to Hogwarts. Dumbledore's largest fan base—students and their parents." He sounded hollow. "What do you think would happen, Granger, if something should happen to the children on the Express?"

Hermione wanted to sit down, but there was no place to sit. She put a hand on the counter to steady herself.

"The students, at that point, are technically under Dumbledore's protection," he continued. "Imagine the damage it would do to his reputation if the train should… derail. Or better, what if the treats on the cart were all poisoned?"

"He's going to attack the Hogwarts Express?" It really wasn't a question, though. Snape nodded once anyway, and disappeared into the store room. His voice echoed oddly.

"Go to the Hospital Wing. Retrieve two doses of Pepper-Up and a bottle of Strengthening Solution. Then go to my office and retrieve every book on the top shelf of the bookcase behind the desk. Go now."

She took off at a sprint, thankful there weren't students to avoid as she went. She did almost run into Professor Flitwick, but managed an awkward jump-dodge, shouting an apology as she plunged on.

On her way back to the dungeons, she found that Flitwick had been joined by Professor McGonagall. He seemed to be retelling their encounter when she dashed by, but Hermione didn't stop to answer their questions. She hoped McGonagall had an idea of what was going on and could tell the Head of Ravenclaw.

There were wards on Snape's chambers, and she came to a full stop in front of them. They were nasty wards. Unpleasant things would happen to unwanted guests. Surprisingly, the doorknob turned and the wards allowed her in without so much as a token resistance. As she shrunk down the required books to fit into the apron pockets, she wondered how long ago he'd modified his wards for her or if the castle itself had let her through.

Flitwick and McGonagall had made it into the dungeons when she dashed along the hall back to the lab. They followed her at a jog, but Snape flicked his wand at the door the moment she was through, slamming it in their faces. A ward sprang into place, blocking out their protests.

"Drink," Snape said, handing her one of the doses of Pepper-Up and downing the other himself. He looked even more like a mad scientist than before, what with the goggles, apron and steam coming out of his ears.

She felt better after she drank her own Pepper-Up. It cleared her head, and eased the tired ache that had settled behind her eyes.

\\\

They finished just after midnight. Hermione conjured a tall stool and sat watching Snape pick up each vial of potion and hold it up to the light. She was bone-tired. There was one day left of the summer holidays, and then the train would be full of students. Potential victims.

Hermione was shaking. She hadn't felt this exhausted since she'd woken up in St. Mungo's after that stupid excursion to the Ministry.

"Go on, then," Snape said, not looking at her. He had one row of vials left.

"Sir?"

"We're finished."

"Yes, sir," Hermione agreed, "but—"

"What do you not _understand_ about—"

But he didn't finish. Hermione, her control frayed by exhaustion, let slip a wave of raw magic like she hadn't done since she was six years old. It rattled the vials in the carrier, shattered the delicate glass beaker sitting forgotten on the counter, and made the stones in the walls shudder. Her hair, frizzed into a pouf around her head from so long over a cauldron, crackled as sparks chased down the strands.

The wave crashed over Professor Snape, lifting him into the air and depositing him on his ass across the room.

"Sorry! I'm sorry," she said. She took a step towards him, thinking to help him up, but thought better of it. She flicked her hand at the broken beaker, repairing it, and ran her hands over her hair to away the sparks. "I haven't slept. I'm not at my best."

Slowly, Snape got to his feet. He looked thunderously angry, but wary of her at the same time. She realized that he had never taught her anything but Potions; he'd never seen her cast spells or duel.

"Sorry, sir," she repeated more softly. She didn't meet his eyes.

He touched her elbow, lightly, but the door crashed open before she could figure out what he meant by the gesture. Apparently, her little outburst had shattered the ward he'd put up.

Flitwick and McGonagall had been joined by Professor Sprout—presumably they had arrived at the castle before the rest of the professors because they were the Heads of House—and they all looked disheveled, anxious.

"Severus," McGonagall said, pinning her colleague with a look, fists on her hips, "What is going on?"

"Apparently," he drawled, meeting McGonagall's stare evenly, "Granger reacts badly to stress."

Hermione felt her outrage building again and ruthlessly tamped it down. This time, instead of a wave it was a few little zaps of blue lightning. It skittered down the strands of her hair, then snapped across to pummel her teacher. He twitched with the impact, but didn't fall over or cry out.

"Sorry," Hermione said again, pawing at her hair, jabbing the pins back into place and willing herself to calm down, to not rise to the bait.

"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall said, though apparently more out of surprise to discover who was behind the goggles than for the involuntary childish outburst. "What are you doing here?"

"Er," Hermione said, removing her goggles and looking from her Head of House to Snape and back. "I was—" She couldn't think of a thing to say. Snape had shaken his head ever so slightly, warning her off the truth. "I think I'm going to pass out."

Professor Flitwick said something, but Hermione ignored it. She guessed that Snape would be the one most likely to catch her, and stumbled in his direction before falling over. She closed her eyes and went limp, reminding herself that it would give everything away if she braced for impact.

Snape did catch her. Awkwardly. His hands grabbed her by the shoulders so that her head flopped down onto her chest, the crown of her head almost touching him. She could feel the heat of him through her hair.

"Bloody… fucking…" Snape was muttering under his breath, trying to get a better grip on her without touching her anywhere but her shoulders where he was already holding on. " _Balls_ ," he finally said, drawing her close into his arms. She tried very hard not to laugh. It was easier not to laugh when, a moment later, he hoisted her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

"Severus," McGonagall said, sounding like she was at her wit's end. " _What_ is going on?"

"I'm sure if you need to know the headmaster will eventually tell you," Snape bit out. Hermione could practically hear him grinding his teeth.

Then they were moving, and she twitched. She wanted to hold on, but she didn't dare. She was supposed to be unconscious.

Snape carried her easily, it seemed. She could tell by the sound of his boots that they were moving quickly, and he didn't seem to be having a particularly difficult time keeping his usual pace. She was uncomfortably aware of her breasts pressed into his shoulder, his hand warm on her thigh, and then she was falling.

Hermione gasped, opening her eyes and grabbing him by the shoulders to keep her feet when she landed. Their faces were suddenly very close. He was looming over her, his head bent forward so that he could look at her from above in that dark way of his.

" _I think I'm going to pass out_ ," he mocked. "Here, I'll just _throw_ myself at you."

"Sorry," she started, but he wasn't listening.

"Merlin's tits, I almost dropped you," he said. She wondered if he even had to think about sneering anymore, or if his face just reverted to that when he didn't tell it to do something else. "I have gotten just as little sleep as you in the past week. Do you _want_ to start term with a concussion? Because it could be arranged!"

"I figured you would be more likely to catch me than Flitwick," Hermione shot back, forgetting who she was talking to.

"Oh, fine choice, that," he said, leaning back from her, nodding in mock agreement.

"I improvised!" she shouted. She tended to be quite shrill when her emotions started to boil over, but she really didn't care right now. " _You_ weren't doing anything helpful—"

"Why even say anything?" he asked. He was gesticulating madly. "If the headmaster didn't tell them already, they don't get an explana—"

"I'm not you!" She threw her hands up, then brought one hand between them to jab a finger at his chest to emphasize her words. " _You_ might be able to get away with scowling and stalking off because _you_ have a reputation as a _rude_ bloody _bastard_ , but I don't!"

"Rude bloody bastard?" he repeated, not angrily, more amused. Hermione wanted to hit him.

They began calling each other names, shouting over each other.

"Arrogant—"

"Insufferable—"

"—bum-fucking—"

"—know-it-all—"

"—high-handed—"

"—little _twat_ -brained—"

"—big-headed tit-wanker!"

"—wench!"

She was shrieking; he was bellowing. They were in each other's faces.

"Ah, Severus," Professor Dumbledore said as if it wasn't one in the morning and they hadn't just been shouting obscenities at each other. "I believe your potion is ready to be delivered to the train station."

"So it is, Headmaster," Snape said through clenched teeth.

"Miss Granger, if you'll come with me?" It was always a question with the headmaster, but there was only ever one answer.

"Yes, Headmaster."

* * *

A/N: It's after midnight here, so it is now Saturday. And you people are amazing.


	6. Chapter 6

FIVE

Hermione had never been so tense in her life, and that included all the hours she'd spent trying to save Professor Snape, wondering if this would be the time she didn't know how to fix him. And the horrible ride to the Ministry through the sky on the back of an invisible beast.

She went to King's Cross with Harry and the Weasleys. She made herself comfortable in the compartment. She tried to focus on Prefect duties.

Half an hour after the train left the station, she warded herself into a bathroom stall and waited. Three minutes, nineteen seconds later, the spell smashed into her ward. She twitched, swallowed, and then took her ward down.

The train was silent. Everybody was asleep.

Tonks was in the front compartment, part of the Auror contingent headed for Hogsmeade, and Hermione made her way there. She had to break through the spell on the door that kept students out, but Dumbledore had told her how to get around it.

" _Ennervate_."

"Wotcher, Hermione," Tonks said blearily. Hermione smiled, but it wasn't really a smile. Her lips sort of quirked up at the corners. It probably looked like she'd had a muscle spasm.

"Everybody's out."

"All of them?"

"Yes."

"Let's get to it, then."

* * *

"I don't like this, Headmaster."

"Oh?"

"Granger's involvement."

"You brought her into it."

"Brewing a potion is _entirely_ different from sending her out to defend the damned Hogwarts Express."

"From poisoning, Severus. She's Vanishing the contents of the snacks trolley."

"What if something else happens?"

"She would've been on the train anyway."

"Headmaster—"

"I'd like you to teach her Occlumency."

"Granger?"

"It is an invaluable skill."

"Headmaster—"

"Harry needs to learn. She is close to him; he may be able to learn from her."

"His mind—"

"We have had this conversation, Severus."

"You really want me in a room with Hermione Granger?" he asked, scowling. "You saw how that ended the last time."

"That is why I believe you will do better than if I were to teach her myself." Dumbledore leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk. "You, yourself, said that she can handle herself. She has always performed well under pressure. She was one of the oldest in her class, and her use of the Time Turner brings her almost a full year past that. And, honestly, that little display in the corridor went a long way to convincing me."

"Convincing you what?" he growled.

"Severus, if she can handle you on no sleep and in a panic, she will be alright on the train. Tonks is with her."

"Oh, good. Tonks. Brilliant."

He'd very nearly kissed Granger in the corridor. He told himself it was because he'd had so little sleep and because he'd let himself take her out of the "student" box over the summer. Those things had very little to do with it. The fact was that he found her attractive. Alluring. She could keep up with him, and she wasn't afraid to shout him down when she thought he deserved it (as long as she also forgot that he was her teacher).

"You're worried about her," Dumbledore said, leaning back. He wasn't smiling, his eyes weren't twinkling, so Severus assumed he was surprised.

"Albus, the Express!" Minerva said, crashing into the room, letting the door bang into the wall. One of the portraits yelped in surprise.

"Minerva?"

"The Express is under attack."

"We expected the—"

"Not the poison, Albus."

"What's happened?" Severus asked. He didn't remember standing up, but he was on his feet. "I _told_ you," he snapped at Dumbledore. "The cart probably wasn't even poisoned. It was probably something to keep us busy while he put together—"

"The wards on the train are _down_ ," Minerva said.

"What?" Albus launched to his feet, all signs of the dotty old grandfather falling away.

"Where is it? Where's the train?" Severus asked, sweeping his robes off his shoulders and laying them over the back of his chair. It would be easier to move without them billowing around him.

"You are staying here," Albus said, drawing his wand.

"No."

"Do not argue, Severus. Go to the Hospital Wing and tell Poppy to prepare for the worst."

"Headmaster—"

"Go. Do as I say."

* * *

"Firs' years this way! Firs' years," Hagrid called, waving his lantern at the end of the platform. The smallest of the children bubbled off the train, all awed smiles and big eyes.

Hermione urged one little girl in pigtails along, then turned to Ron.

"Where's Harry?"

"Harry can take care of himself."

"I haven't seen him in ages."

"We've been _patrolling_ ," Ron said, still annoyed with her for making him actually act like a Prefect.

She scowled at him and looked for Tonks. She hadn't seen the Auror since Dumbledore had left, just before the spell lifted and all the students woke up.

"Harry's still on the train," she hissed as Tonks pretended to urge her toward the carriages with the rest of the students.

"Go. I'll find him," Tonks whispered.

Hermione nodded. It was all she could to keep from scowling as she walked down the platform.

It had been like the Ministry. First there had been adrenalin, spells flying everywhere. The students had been in their compartments, safely asleep, the perfect hostages. It had been her and Tonks, outnumbered and outmaneuvered. They'd been cut off from the compartment with the other Aurors in it. And then Dumbledore arrived with more Aurors than she could remember seeing, even from the beginning of the summer.

Dumbledore had been there, and that had been the end of it. His mere presence had sent more than half the Death Eaters running. He'd sent her back to her compartment with Harry and Ron to badger them about changing into their uniforms. Harry had run off mumbling about Malfoy not twenty minutes later.

"Come on," she said, giving Ron a push toward the carriages. She hadn't been able to see the thestrals last year. This year she could, and from Ron's heavy feet she was sure he could see them too. She took his hand and squeezed it before climbing into her seat.

Her side was killing her, and she could only hope that it wasn't _literally_ killing her. It burned; it had been bleeding freely, so Tonks had cauterized it shut with a spell. They hadn't had any soothing pastes or a pain-numbing potion to take.

"Was Harry like that all summer, then?" she asked. If she didn't talk, she would just sit and think about how bumpy the ride was.

"No, he was good. He was sad about, y'know, Sirius, but… Well. You know."

Hermione grimaced. Ron probably assumed it was because she was thinking about her parents.

"He's been sure Malfoy is up to something since Diagon Alley, though."

"He's always convinced Malfoy is up to something," Hermione said.

"Right."

They spent the rest of the trip in awkward silence.

"Miss Granger," Snape said the moment they stepped into the entrance hall. "Follow me."

"We haven't done anything," Ron said, looking from her to Snape and back.

"It's alright, Ron," Hermione murmured, but Snape spoke over her.

"Not you, Mr. Weasley," he said, then his voice turned mocking. "Run on along to the feast, now."

Ron scowled and stalked off, shoulders stiff.

"You're bleeding," Snape said, ignoring the look she'd shot him.

"I'm fine."

"No. You've bled through your shirt."

"What?"

He pulled her into an unused classroom—unused for some time, judging by the accumulated dust—and Summoned a stool from across the room. "What happened?"

Hermione sat gingerly, pushing her robe behind her and untucking the white uniform blouse so that they could see the mess of her right side.

"They attacked the train, not the way we expected."

"I heard about that. What happened to _you_? Dumbledore said you were fine." He spoke to her injury; his focus was… intense.

"It was a ricochet. A curse hit some glass next to me, and the glass cut me. I was bleeding, so Tonks cauterized it. It must've reopened."

"Why didn't she just..." He let the question trail off in a sigh. The cut on her side sort of pinched, and then the blood stopped. The skin sealed up, pink and tender.

"Thank you."

He nodded, his face dark, then stepped back. He pulled a vial out of his pocket and held it out. "Blood Replenishing Potion. Do you want something for the pain?"

"It doesn't hurt anymore." She took the vial and swallowed the potion down. She felt less woozy within a moment.

"Dumbledore said you did well today."

Hermione opened her mouth, but she didn't know what to say, so she shrugged. Luckily, they were interrupted by Tonks's Patronus calling him to the gate. She'd found Harry.

"Potter?" he asked, looking to her. She tucked her shirt in again, then cleared the blood off her clothes. It took two tries before the spell caught and got the blood out of her shirt.

"He went off by himself for most of the trip. Something about Malfoy; I expect he'll tell me next time I see him."

"… bloody kidding me," Snape muttered, jabbing his wand at her stool to return it to its place across the room. Then, to her, he said, "Get to the Great Hall before you're missed."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

A/N: So I had the weekend off, too. (Huzzah.) There's another chapter quick on this one's heels; it will be up this evening if all goes to plan!


	7. Chapter 7

SIX

Severus paced his new office. He should be reviewing lessons plans and sorting through the baseline testing he'd put his classes through over the course of the first week of term, but he couldn't concentrate on work. All he could think about was _her_.

He'd called her an insufferable know-it-all little twat-brained wench to her face. (Which was his own awkward equivalent of asking her out for drinks.) He could still feel her stomach under his hands, warm and quivering ever so slightly. He'd had her in class three times since then— she'd kept her head down, done her work, avoided his eye. He could feel her magic rumbling around as she perfectly cast nonverbal spells, though. He'd wanted to...

 _Bloody hell_ , he chastised himself. _Get your head out of your ass, you sex-starved moron. She's a student._

He forced his attention back to the evaluations in front of it. He made it through the first and second years, and had a good start on the third years when the headmaster arrived with none other than the woman on his mind. From the bookbag over her shoulder and the rumpled uniform, he guessed she had been in the library since dinner. Severus raised an eyebrow at them because he couldn't seem to be able to think of something to say.

Twenty minutes later, he stood with his fists on his desk _glaring_ at Granger. She was frozen in the chair on the other side of the desk, gaping in the direction of the door through which Dumbledore had exited.

"Occlumency," she muttered, turning to meet his eyes. The glare didn't seem to bother her, which annoyed him further. "He wants you to teach me _Occlumency_."

"Joy," he muttered, sitting heavily and pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd hoped he'd be able to put off these lessons at least until October. He needed time to get his head back in the right place where she was concerned. Dumbledore didn't care; he wanted Granger to learn Occlumency so that she could tell Potter she'd read about it and then try to teach him. It wouldn't work, of course. Potter's mind… well. It wouldn't work.

But the headmaster hadn't listened, and now he was alone with _her_ , and he would be left alone with her two evenings a week directly following her evening rounds as a Prefect until she mastered the mind magic.

"Well then," he finally said, turning and Summoning the books she'd need. Potter wouldn't have read them, but Granger would _devour_ them. "Read these. We'll skip Monday's lesson to give you time to finish them, and then start on Wednesday."

"Yes, sir."

He didn't like the way she called him "sir." It rolled off her tongue by habit, but it also seemed mocking somehow. As if they both knew that she was dearer to him, that she knew him better than to need to call him "sir."

"We'll meet outside the Room of Requirement at nine."

"Yes, sir."

She left without waiting to be dismissed, and he put his forehead on the desk.

* * *

He'd given her three books, and it had taken her a day to finish each of them. She hadn't gotten ahead on her homework the way she liked to, but it was necessary. She was terrified of Wednesday. There were so many things he could see. So many things he _would_ see.

In Defense on Monday, he caught her practicing the breathing exercises one of the books had said was a useful place to start. Instead of criticizing her lack of attention, he'd given her the slightest of nods and matched the rhythm of his lecture to her breath count.

At lunch on Tuesday, she realized he was dreading the lessons as much as she was. She happened upon him in the library when she returned a book she'd had out for Charms, and he'd given her such a pained look before disappearing deeper into the stacks that she'd almost gone after him and begged for another week to finish the books.

On Wednesday, she ran away when Harry and Ron started talking about how much they disliked him. She didn't need that fresh on her mind when he went looking.

And then it was nine o'clock, and they were standing in front of the nondescript door that had just appeared in the wall, looking at it as though there were gallows waiting for each of them on the other side.

"Sod it," he said, and wrenched the door open, holding it for her to pass through first. She smiled, but kept her face down to the floor so he wouldn't see it.

It was a small room, cozy. There was a fireplace with a large mantle. A large thick rug over the stone floor. Two wingback armchairs, dark wood with purple velvet upholstery. A spindly end table between the wingbacks made of the same dark wood, a pitcher of water and two glasses sitting on top. The walls were round, pale bare stone lacking any adornment. It was a room for two people and two people only, and in secret; no portraits meant no witnesses.

"This is lovely," she said, choosing the wingback with its back to the door because she knew he'd be unbearable if he couldn't watch the door for intruders.

"Delightful," he said, sarcasm dripping from each drawn-out syllable. He sat, glanced at the door behind her, and stared at her for a moment. "Tell me about Occlumency."

So she did. She tried not to recite verbatim, but the pinched look on his face told her she hadn't done a very good job of it. When she finished defining Occlumency, she told him about methods—meditation, breathing exercises, visualization—and the strengths and weaknesses of each.

"Have you chosen a method you think best suited to you?" he asked dryly, and she wasn't sure if he was making fun of her for all she'd retained from his books or just plain mocking her.

"Sir?"

He frowned, but didn't say anything for a moment.

"Let's just get a baseline, shall we?" She gulped, but nodded. "Clear your mind."

Her mind had been fairly clear when she'd been talking about Occlumency, but she'd tensed up and started thinking of all the things she didn't want him to see in her mind. Most of it was stupid—setting him on fire first year—but some of it was…

" _Legilimens_."

She was with Viktor the week before the last task. They were in the alcove two turns from the portrait of the Fat Lady; he'd been escorting her back to her dormitory after a nice walk around the lake.

 _Oh, hell_.

She was thirteen, the boys had just left the lavatory looking like Crabbe and Goyle, and she'd gone to look at herself in the mirror. She was fuzzy. She had whiskers and cat ears and a tail. Moaning Myrtle floated up behind her and started cackling, and she began to cry. She'd have to _tell_ somebody what she'd done. And the cat ears were overly sensitive to sound; Myrtle's cackling was so loud it physically hurt.

 _No, no, no_.

Snape turned and left the room, leaving them alone with Umbridge. The toad threatened to use the Cruciatus Curse on Harry, and Hermione snapped. She lied. She lured the horrible excuse for a professor out into the woods, to Grawp, and left her to the centaurs. She watched (and didn't feel guilty at all) when the woman was carried off by the herd.

 _Breathe two three…_

First year, crawling beneath the teacher's box, finding the pool of Snape's robes, whispering the incantation because she didn't know spells could be nonverbal yet…

" _You_ set my robes on fire?" he asked, and he was out of her mind so fast she was glad she'd been sitting down. She blinked, reorienting on the comfortable room, the warm fire, the plush chair. Snape's eyes were flashing, but he seemed more amused than anything else.

"Sorry," she said, glancing away.

"You could've gotten Potter killed."

"We thought you were the one cursing him."

He rolled his eyes dramatically, but she could only shrug.

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head, rubbed his hands over his knees a few times, then seemed to collect himself.

"Did you feel you had any control over what I saw?"

"No." She put her hands to her burning cheeks. "All I could think about was all the embarrassing things you could potentially find, which, of course, brought them to the forefront."

"It's a place to start," he said diplomatically. She was desperately glad he didn't talk about any of the other memories. "Use it. Embarrassing things are distracting. If the Legilimens is looking for a particular thought but they see you turning yourself into a cat—almost—it could be the distraction you need."

She nodded, wishing she could stop blushing.

"Again."

"Sir—"

" _Legilimens_."

* * *

A/N: If I were editing myself properly, the next few chapters would have been cut. But I like them. It's one of those plot bunnies that just hung on. Apologies ahead of time :)


	8. Chapter 8

SEVEN

Harry was off following Malfoy around. She wished he'd taken Ron with him so he wasn't on his own, but she and Ron had been trying to dissuade him from the idea entirely and had refused to even listen to his latest bout of suspicions. Harry had gone without them.

"So," Hermione said, tossing aside her quill and frowning when it splattered ink all over her just-completed Charms essay. "How are you?"

"Good. Fine," Ron said. He made the squinty face he always did when he was trying not to laugh, and she ignored him while she tapped the ink splotches with the tip of her wand. "I'm not failing Defense, surprisingly enough."

"How do you know?" She'd accidentally Vanished half a sentence along with an ink splotch, and she carefully penned it back in.

"I've gotten 'Acceptable' on my last four essays, and 'Exceeds Expectations' on that last quiz. Honestly, I'm starting to wonder if he's grading me on a curve. Maybe I exceeded his expectations by remembering to use commas on the short answer questions?"

Hermione smiled at him, feeling at peace for the first time in ages. Things had been so hectic and she'd been keeping so many secrets that she'd forgotten how much she liked her friends.

"So," Ron said, suddenly hesitant. "How are _you_?"

"Fine. Oh. Well." She sighed and looked at the parchment in front of her. She'd gone over by almost a full inch, but she couldn't bring herself to care. "I'm fine."

"Really? You can talk to me, you know. I—"

"Ron."

"Come on, Hermione."

Hermione looked at him and almost smiled. He'd put aside his homework, closed the copy of _Quidditch Weekly_ he'd been hiding under his essay, and was looking at her seriously. She couldn't resist. She added a few layers to their privacy charms and slowly stacked up her homework things to one side.

"Professor Snape has been teaching me Occlumency."

" _What_?" Obviously, that wasn't what he'd expected her to say.

"I've been learning Occlumency. Headmaster Dumbledore hopes I'll be able to teach Harry."

"Yeah?"

"I'm worried about it. I'm doing alright. I can't keep him out or anything, but I can tell what's happening. I know I'm getting closer."

"But…?"

"But I think Professor Snape wasn't just being mean when he said Harry wouldn't be able to learn. It's not that it's hard or that the two of them don't get along, it's just the way he thinks. He thinks with his gut more often than not."

"So?"

" _So_ the things that have been helping me improve in the lessons are things that Harry hates. Focusing, reading the books, doing mental exercises at night. Thinking, not going with my instincts."

"You think he's not teaching you so that you can teach Harry," Ron said, sitting back from the table and looking thoughtful. Hermione nodded. "You think he's trying to poke through your brain for secrets to give to You Know Who?"

"What? No."

"Well—"

"Don't be stupid, Ron."

"He's a _spy_."

"Yeah. For _us_."

"Says him."

"Says Dumbledore."

"Well what are you worried about, then?"

"I didn't say I was worried."

"But you are."

Hermione scowled at him even though she was glad to be able to talk to him about it. "Yes."

"Why?"

"I think Dumbledore believes him. I don't think he actually plans for me to be able to teach Harry."

"So what's the point?"

"Exactly."

They were quiet a moment. Hermione noticed the time and started loading her books back into her bag. Dinner was one thing Ron was never late for.

"It's probably got to do with his hand," Ron said, stuffing his papers back into his bag.

"The headmaster's?"

"Yeah."

"Why do you think that?"

"It's the biggest change. Well, as far as we know. Could be something else. But I think it's his hand. He was cursed, so now he's trying to move things along before it gets worse."

"Do you think it will get worse? It hasn't changed at all since the beginning of the school year."

"Curses like that—the sort that don't get better within a few weeks—generally only get worse. That's what Bill says, anyway."

She'd read as much in books, of course, but she'd hoped Dumbledore was a special case. Because he was Dumbledore.

"I'm afraid that he's going to get worse and he won't be able to keep the Ministry out of Hogwarts anymore," she said. "It's only a matter of time before You Know Who takes over the Ministry, and if he can't keep them out of Hogwarts people like me are going to have to leave."

"Never going to happen."

"It could. Umbridge is still around."

"They'll never let the toad touch Hogwarts after all that happened. No way."

"But if You Know Who is in charge…"

"Jeez," Ron said, running a hand through his hair. "No wonder you look so serious all the time. I—well I sorta thought it was your parents."

"Ron…"

"Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"It's fine." She hated keeping secrets from them. "Really, Ron. It's okay."

Hermione cancelled their charms as she slung her bag over her shoulder. If they lingered any longer they'd be late for dinner, and such a thing would be unthinkable to Ron. She tipped her chin down to hide her smile when he noticed the time and rushed to grab the last of his things and lead the way out of the library.

"Why don't we talk about anything fun anymore?" he asked once they had passed Madam Pince's desk and were out in the corridor. "Remember when it used to be baby dragons and who's the Heir of Slytherin?"

"How is Norbert these days? Have you heard from Charlie lately?"

* * *

Severus couldn't sleep. Actually, he couldn't _anything_.

They'd begun her Occlumency lessons three weeks ago, and while she was better than Potter could ever hope to be, she still couldn't keep him out. He kept stumbling on things they'd both rather he didn't see.

Like how she'd expertly avoided patrolling teachers to snog Viktor Krum what seemed like all over the school. Like her penchant for causing him trouble, whether it was in outwitting his logic puzzle or stealing ingredients from his store room. Like how she'd dragged Harry Potter through the preparation for the tasks of the Triwizard Tournament, how terrifyingly close to failure he'd been. Like the fact that Dumbledore's Army had been her brainchild. And she was brewing the potions for the hospital wing this year, a chore that was supposed to have gone to Slughorn as the Potions professor.

Mostly, the secrets were amusing. Sometimes he was disgusted by what she got away with, the sneaking around after hours and putting herself in danger. It was the memories of Viktor Krum he dreaded. He actively avoided them. They made him feel… Jealous? Voyeuristic? Horny? Dirty?

And they distracted him. The image of her stretched out on a bed in the Durmstrang ship haunted him whenever he closed his eyes.

Alone in his chambers, he was aware that _she_ would be alone in the Room of Requirement, brewing the potions Slughorn was supposed to brew… Temptation of the worst sort. And worse because she was a student and he had leapt across the line there, lusting after her as he was.

That was a line he had never crossed. A line he had promised himself he would never cross, even if one of his masters asked it of him.

\\\

He went to Dumbledore and threw a fit about her brewing for the hospital wing. It was essentially an unsupervised apprenticeship. Really, it was unsafe.

"I am confident in Miss Granger's ability, Severus," Dumbledore said without so much as looking up from the paperwork on his desk. (Or possibly he was notating _The Knitter's Natter_ again.) "But feel free to look in on her, if it would make you feel better."

Severus swept out of the office, fuming. Instead of putting an end to her extra time in the Room of Requirement, he'd gained official approval to spend more time alone with her.

 _Shite_.

* * *

Hermione missed her Time Turner. She'd had half a mind to ask for one when Dumbledore had set her to doing the brewing as well as the extra lessons with Snape, but then she'd remembered that she'd been part of destroying them at the Department of Mysteries not so long ago. So it was her own fault she was tired.

They were being set huge amounts of homework. She didn't mind that so much, since it was interesting homework. Classes were a different story—the other day, she'd had to ask McGonagall to go over her instructions again _twice_. And Harry was doing better than she was in Potions, which was absurd.

The entertainment value of watching her classmates try to nonverbally struggling to Summon a piece of toast at breakfast almost made up for the stress of the rest of it. Almost.

Thursdays were her longest days. It was usually close to midnight when she finished brewing. Luckily, brewing potions alone in the Room of Requirement was restful in its own way. It was just her and the cauldron, she could let her hands move with the rhythm of the potion, count her stirs under her breath without worrying about throwing Neville off. She always felt relaxed when she headed for her dormitory.

She didn't think about it (or she tried not to) when she began walking past Snape's office after she finished the brewing. It wasn't precisely on the way, but she told herself it was on a better route because she avoided that trick staircase. It had nothing to do with wanting to be sure he was there, safe in the castle.

Tonight the light wasn't on. Tonight he wasn't in.

She couldn't sleep. She paced instead. When Lavender grouched at her, she retreated behind the hangings of her bed and warded in her noise, tried to work ahead on her homework. Arithmancy was usually good for putting her to sleep, but she finished the month's workbook before she felt even a bit tired.

The only thing that kept her in bed was knowing that he'd probably see her sneaking out to check on him during Occlumency lessons.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Inquiring minds want to know: Did Hermione have sex with Viktor Krum? **No.** Nope. Nuh-uh. She was too young, and also kind of busy trying to help Harry not die in the Triwizard Tournament. I made changes to a few sentences in the last chapter to make that clearer—snogging, heavy petting, whatever, but no sex. Go back, have a look, let me know if I need to spell it out even further.  
Sorry for the mess.

* * *

EIGHT

After five weeks—nine lessons—she finally managed to stymy him. Not keep him out, not even close, but she led him on a chase.

The first memory was innocuous. One of her early Transfigurations classes, sitting at a desk and staring at a mouse, pointing her wand at it, then doing nothing because she was worried she'd hurt it. Then performing the spell perfectly because McGonagall walked over to see what was wrong.

The next was of the library. Or at least he'd thought it was a memory. It was a near-perfect replication of the Hogwarts library, down to the lines of wear in the carpets. But it wasn't really a memory; it was a visualization. Each book contained a memory or a series of memories. The stacks were sectioned out into the years of her life. Experiences were packed in with factoids from books. And the memories she didn't want him to see were safely locked away in the "Restricted Section." When he tried to open the door and pass through, a Hermione-Pince swept down on him ranting about needing a note to enter.

"Yes!"

" _Do it again_ ," he hissed. " _Legilimens._ "

And she did. He managed to use one of the other memories to link into a memory that would be in her "Restricted Section" the third time, but she had more control the fourth time. He let her go early.

* * *

Hermione thought she was doing quite well. Actually, she _knew_ she was doing well. She wasn't dreading Monday and Wednesday evenings anymore. It helped that he seemed to be avoiding her memories of snogging Viktor since he'd come across that one where they'd been missing a few pieces of clothing. Not worrying about _those_ memories cropping up had let her focus on her visualization of the Hogwarts library. It seemed to work; she'd been able to take the memory-books away from him, and her mental librarian kept him out of the "Restricted Section" and even managed to toss him out of the "library" a few times. By November, she could keep him out entirely sometimes. Not all the time. But sometimes.

It was a good thing, too. She'd begun checking up on him. She didn't try to explain it to herself; she didn't want to think about it. She just had to know that he wasn't off bleeding at Grimmauld Place or something.

Right?

* * *

He began to join her in the Room of Requirement on Thursday evenings. They were his free evenings, uninterrupted by office hours or remedial appointments. There was the odd detention, but as long as he planned those directly after dinner he didn't have any trouble meeting her for the brewing.

He told himself it was to ease her load. He had the time, and he enjoyed brewing; why not help her finish the potions sooner, leaving her more time for her work?

Sometimes they fought. Bickered, really. He loved it when he made her so mad that she forgot who he was and started swearing at him.

\\\

"Why aren't you speaking to your friends?"

"Why—what?"

"Potter and Weasley. You aren't speaking to them."

"Sure I am."

"I haven't seen you so much as look at either of them in two days."

"And you watch me every moment of every day?" she asked flippantly.

He frowned, mostly because he had very nearly shown his hand. He did watch her. Not obsessively, not every moment. But he noticed her when she was in the room, and he paid attention. He knew that there was discord between her and her friends.

"I suppose I could find the answer for myself," he said, pushing back the sleeves of his robe with a flourish and taking his wand out of the sleeve of his coat. She smirked. He wasn't sure if she was amused by his theatricality or if she was looking forward to keeping the memory from him. (She'd been getting quite good at that.)

" _Legilimens_."

The library again. Hermione-Pince swooped down on him the moment he took a book off the shelf, haranguing him about smudges and fragile bindings. As he got closer to the Restricted Section, she shrieked louder, taking what appeared to be the Quidditch rule book (volume two) off a shelf and trying to hit him over the head with it.

And then—

 _"_ _Don't drink that, Ron!"_

 _"_ _Why not?"_

 _"_ _You just put something in that drink."_

 _"_ _Excuse me?"_

 _"_ _You heard me. I saw you. You just tipped something into Ron's drink. You've got the bottle in your hand right now!_

 _"_ _I don't know what you're talking about."_

 _"_ _Ron, I warn you, don't drink it!"_

 _"_ _Stop bossing me around, Hermione."_

 _"_ _You should be expelled for that. I'd never have believed it of you, Harry!"_

 _"_ _Hark who's talking? Confunded anyone lately?"_

Then a memory from after his Slytherins had lost.

 _"_ _What are you going to do, turn us in?"_

 _"_ _What are you two talking about?"_

 _"_ _You know perfectly well what we're talking about! You spiked Ron's juice with lucky potion at breakfast! Felix Felicis!"_

 _"_ _No, I didn't."_

 _"_ _Yes you did, Harry, and that's why everything went right, there were Slytherin players missing and Ron saved everything!"_

 _"_ _I didn't put it in! I wanted Ron to think I'd done it, so I faked it when I knew you were looking." Potter held out a tiny bottle full of golden potion, the cork still sealed with wax. He grinned at Weasley. "You saved everything because you felt lucky. You did it all yourself."_

 _"_ _There really wasn't anything in my pumpkin juice? But the weather's good.. and Vaisey couldn't play… I honestly haven't been given lucky potion?" Potter shook his head smugly—he looked_ so _like his father—and Weasley turned to Granger, mocking her. "_ You added Felix Felicis to Ron's juice this morning, that's why he saved everything! _See! I can save goals without help, Hermione!"_

 _"_ _I never said you couldn't—Ron,_ you _thought you'd been given it too!"_

The memory-book he'd been "reading" snapped shut in front of his nose, and he was left staring at Hermione-Pince again. She glared at him, shelved the book, and unceremoniously shoved him out the door of the "library," sending him out of her mind slightly more forcefully than she'd been able to do before.

"I'm not speaking to Harry because he used me to trick Ron, and Ron isn't speaking to me because he thinks I don't think he's any good at Quidditch."

"I thought it might be because he's paired off with Brown."

"Don't you have anything better to do than watch your students?"

"And miss the melodrama?" His tone was snide, but she'd hit her mark. He did watch her too closely.

"Melodrama is a good word for it." Surprisingly, she just seemed resigned. "Oddly, these are the quietest hours of my day. And I'm learning mind magic from a spy."

"Saying it like that makes it sound much more glamorous than it is."

"What? Mind magic?"

" _Spy_."

"It's what you do."

"I'm not James Bond, Granger. I don't poke through the secret files of the enemy and rescue women in bikinis."

"Pity," she deadpanned, and he barked out a laugh. He couldn't help it. Her eyes danced.

 _Shite_.

\\\

"We're going to start Legilimency."

It was the second full week of November and it was past time. She was ready. He'd had more than one meeting with the headmaster about it—they'd talked the subject to death, actually. It was pure procrastination on his part; he dreaded her forays into his mind.

"Yes, sir."

He still hated the way she called him "sir."

"Read these," he growled, shoving six books into her hands. They were new books; he'd bought them for her. He'd had half a mind to give them to her as a Christmas gift, but this was the better (more appropriate) way to give them to her.

They couldn't wait until Christmas, anyway.


	10. Chapter 10

NINE

"What do you think of her?"

"Sir?"

"Miss Granger. What do you think of her?"

 _She's magnificent_.

"She's an excellent student. If she didn't spend so much time with Potter—"

"No, Severus. You're deliberately misinterpreting the question."

"She's done well, Albus," he said, settling back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other. It wouldn't help, of course. The headmaster would know he was striving to appear comfortable since the line of questioning made him _un_ comfortable. "She has handled her work load well this year, and taken to Occlumency on top of that."

"Good. Good."

"We will start with Legilimency on Monday."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Hermione arrived outside the Room of Requirement first, yet the door refused to appear. No matter how hard she thought, the little room with the wingback chairs and spindly little table with water didn't appear. Instead, the Room simply presented a tunnel. A long, dark, descending tunnel. There were torches down the length of it with enough space between that there were foreboding pools of darkness.

When Snape was ten minutes late and the Room was still a tunnel deep into the castle, Hermione took her wand out of her pocket and went inside.

By the time she passed the fourth torch, she was running. The sense of urgency wasn't her own, but it was _stifling_.

The tunnel ended in an archway and a dark room.

 _Lumos_.

Snape was on the floor maybe three steps out of the archway. At first, she thought he was having a seizure, but he didn't seem to be convulsing. He was arched up, hands stiff claws, elbows bent. He seemed to balance precariously on his head and toes; the slightest twitch would've sent him toppling over, but he didn't move.

 _Oh, God, he's been cursed_.

Forgetting the strangeness, forgetting the lesson, forgetting everything, she ran into the room.

"Sir? Bugger." She knew three diagnostic spells. One was for curses, one was for enchantments, and one was for illnesses like the common cold. She had books full of them in her trunk up in Gryffindor Tower, but that didn't help her now. "Shit!" He collapsed, and she almost dropped her wand.

"You swear a lot," he said, jaw clenched.

"What the _fuck_."

He laughed. It was a wheezy, painful thing to hear. It cut off abruptly and his whole body clenched again.

She cast her three diagnostic spells. He hadn't been cursed. He wasn't enchanted. His muscles were seizing up; he was in pain. She knew what to do for that, but before she could cast, he unclenched and grabbed her wrist.

"Don't. No spells. Makes it worse."

"Makes it _worse_?

"It'll pass."

" _What_ will pass?"

"Aftershocks."

"Aftershocks of _what_?"

Instead of answering, he clenched up again. His grip on her wrist turned painful as his hand spasmed into a claw again and squeezed the bones together. She grabbed his hand with her free one and held on. It hurt.

It was over almost as soon as it began. He lay down flat on the floor, panting.

"What's happening?"

"Nothing. It's over."

"Just like that?"

"You can always feel it."

"Feel _what_."

She realized she'd gone from hanging onto his hand while he crushed the bones in her wrist to actually holding his hand. He was holding her hand back. Their fingers were twined, holding tight. She wasn't sure what to do about it. It wasn't nurse-at-the-bedside hand holding. It was…

"The Cruciatus Curse," he said. He sounded tired, utterly done in.

"Aftershocks," she repeated as it fell into place. It was a sign of torture. Prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse led to aftershocks, the length and duration of which were directly proportional to the torture. " _Aftershocks_."

"I'm fine."

"LIKE HELL!"

He took a deep breath and squeezed her hand, using it as leverage to sit up. He didn't let go. Instead, he brought it to his lips and kissed the back of her hand, then drew her arm closer so that her wrist was in front of him. With a few murmured words, the heat that had begun to turn into soreness dissipated.

She took a deep breath and let it out through her nose. "Thank you."

"It was my fault."

"Who used the Cruciatus on you?" He tried to turn away, to stand up, but she still had his fingers in hers and she held him where he was. "Who."

"Who do you think?"

" _Why_. Why do you do this? Why did you go back? Dumbledore spoke for you. I looked up the transcripts of your trial. You were off the hook. And _he_ 's afraid of Dumbledore; you could've just stayed at Hogwarts. Been safe."

"You looked up the transcripts?"

"Of course I looked up the transcripts."

"You are… You are the swottiest swot to ever swot."

It made her laugh, but she _knew_ that hadn't been what he'd meant to say.

"I don't understand why you do it, sir."

He sighed. It was one of those sighs that came straight out of the farthest depths of his soul. Then he squeezed her hand one more time and stood up, pulling her to her feet with him.

"Why don't you find out? We're beginning Legilimency. That can be your goal; find out why I do what I do."

"You'd never let me get that far."

"I have to let you see _something_ to teach you."

"You'd never let me get that far," she repeated. He looked down at her, considering. He almost smiled, she could see it in his eyes.

"Try."

* * *

A/N: Sorry it's a short one!


	11. Chapter 11

TEN

Six hours later, Hermione was still awake. He'd successfully distracted her from his hurting with the Legilimency. And the challenge. He'd played her like a damn piano. He'd even given her books. Arse.

He'd been sore, she could tell that much. He'd held himself the way he did in class the mornings after his lights were off when she walked past his office. Then he'd gotten a headache bad enough that she could tell with her crap Legilimency. (She hadn't been able to catch more than a glimpse of her own face in that dark hallway—the memory freshest on his mind—and he hadn't been resisting her at all.)

Yet in the wee hours of the morning, it wasn't the new books or her own lack of Legilimantic promise that was keeping her up. It was him.

He'd kissed her.

Sort of.

More importantly, he'd let her in. Not into his mind, he was making her work for that, but _in_. The way normal people let each other in. Sure, he'd been in pain and he'd been tired, and to most people that was a weakness, but not to him. He'd let her in.

And now, "the swottiest swot to ever swot" couldn't focus on her reading because she was too busy staring at bit of skin that his lips had touched. She was thinking about the way he'd been opening doors for her—literally opening a door when they walked together and letting her enter first. She was thinking about the memory of herself in his eyes; she'd looked like a freaking angel rushing to his side, wandlight making her hair glow.

* * *

She scared the hell out of him. She was magnificent, and he'd almost told her so. She'd even let him drop the subject of his spying, his damned _reasons_.

Of course, she'd find out eventually. If things continued as they had been.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the oncoming headache, not that it would help. Her first forays into Legilimency had been neither effective nor gentle. He felt like she'd taken a spatula and smacked it against his gray matter. Repeatedly.

\\\

Tuesday had come and gone before he'd decided how much he'd let her see. And then it was Wednesday night, nine o'clock, and the Room of Requirement transformed into the small, round room with two chairs, and the spindly table with water. He sat in his usual chair and watched the door, waiting.

"Hello, sir," she said as she stepped in. She had a harried, polite, smile plastered on her face. She'd been arguing with her friends again.

"Good evening," he said, keeping his voice slow and low. He needed her calm and focused. "Shall we begin?"

She cleared her throat, took her seat, and nodded. She did better than Monday.

He only let her see what he wanted her to see. He showed her a bored teenaged version of himself blasting gnats and water beetles out by the Black Lake. He showed her memory upon memory of interminable staff meetings over the years. By the end of the night, she was able to move from one memory to the next along a common thread, but he still had to take a dose of Headache Relief before bed.

\\\

Then it was December, and something just clicked. She got it. She applied her knowledge of _him_ to the Legilimency. A kind, gentle touch with her mind, sinking into the memories she wanted instead of trying to force them out of him.

The touch of her mind against his was gentle. It was like a hug, a caress. She enveloped the bubble of his thoughts, his consciousness, and didn't press. She was just _there_.

When the Dark Lord used Legilimency, it was like he had a Muggle surgical knife and stabbed it into Severus's mind seeking a specific moment. When Dumbledore used Legilimency it was much the same but less violent, more probing.

He'd never experienced Hermione's gentleness in his life. She asked a question and waited to see if he'd answer it, and he _wanted_ to answer it because she was being nice about it and because he liked her. He was sorely tempted to show her everything. Every detail, every sorry moment of his damned life.

 _Why are you so angry?_

It wasn't a spoken question. He wondered if she even knew she was asking it. It was there at the edges of his mind just as surely as she was. He was answering it before he realized he'd decided to do it.

His fifth year, just after Christmas. He was one of the only students in the castle over the holiday; the only Slytherin. He'd been taking a walk around the Black Lake, enjoying the peace of it all. The sky was that stone color that promised snow. The Black Lake had mostly frozen over and somebody had cleared off one end to make a skating rink, but it was too cold for anybody to be out. He met Dumbledore at the far point of his walk around the lake. The headmaster's flowing sky-blue cloak had been patterned with tiny stars that shimmered when he moved.

She withdrew from his mind, eyes wide.

" _He didn't_."

"You know enough to spot a false memory," Severus said, feeling almost petulant. He'd just shown her one of the closest-held secrets, if not _the_ closest secret he'd ever kept.

" _How_ could he? How could _you_? You were, what, fifteen?"

"Two weeks shy of sixteen."

"That's _horrible_."

"He has asked worse of other people, and with much poorer reasons behind it."

"But… you hadn't even taken your O.W.L.s yet."

Severus snorted a laugh, surprised that that was what she fixated on among it all. But of course that was what she thought of.

"It's a long game."

"It's not a game! It's your fucking life!" She launched to her feet, the magic vibrating off of her like it had in the lab. Her fists were clenched, her curls beginning to frizz as magic sparked through them.

His hand was halfway to her hair before he stopped himself. She was absolutely magnificent.

"God _damn_ it, Severus!"

She clapped a hand over her mouth the moment his name left her mouth. His heart raced and he surged to his feet. He wanted to grab her and kiss her and Apparate her the hell away from all the shit in his life.

Instead, he took her wrist and drew her hand away from her face. He could feel her heart racing at the pulse point, matching his own beat for beat.

"Say it again," he said, but his voice cracked. She hardly seemed to hear him. She grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him to her.

"Severus."

He wanted to kiss her. He almost did. That was one line he'd never crossed, though. Never thought to cross, never planned to cross, never _would_ cross. No matter how magnificent she was. He'd committed to this path a long time ago, and there were only so many things he could promise himself he would never do. Never a student.

He pulled her close, wrapping her in his arms and holding tight. She wrapped her arms around his ribs and held on just as tightly.

"He's doing the exact same thing to you."

"I'm not fifteen."

"Sixteen. Seventeen? You're a September birthday, right?"

"Try nineteen. September birthday, yes, so it's probably approaching twenty. I was thirteen; I didn't track the hours nearly as well as I should have."

"He's still doing the same thing to you," he said after too long a pause. "He's pulling you in."

"I'm already _in_."

He'd loosened his grip, but he pulled her in close again. His arms clamped around her. Because she was right, she was in the _game_ , and it was a deadly game.

"Shite."


	12. Chapter 12: EDITED

ELEVEN

She hardly saw him on Tuesdays, and it was a lucky thing. She didn't quite know what to do with herself around him. Not after that.

He'd held onto her, and then he'd turned and left. "Fled" was probably the best word for it. Hermione had looked at the fire for a while, striving for composure, and then returned to Gryffindor Tower. Ron had been snogging Lavender in the common room, which had the side benefit of Lavender not being in the bathroom when Hermione went through her nightly ritual. Parvati was around, but seemed to be trying to scry for the future using a glass of water and moonlight.

She had trouble focusing, though. All through the following day, Tuesday's, lessons, she'd been distracted. She'd tried to turn her Ancient Runes homework in when she was in Arithmancy. Professor Vector had taken her aside after class to ask if she was alright and swap for the correct homework.

"I'm fine, Professor. Sorry. I don't know where my head is today!"

They'd laughed, and Hermione had hurried off to her next class. She'd known perfectly well where her head was, though. It was across the castle in the Defense classroom with her Defense professor.

Hermione couldn't have told anybody what was for dinner as she was eating it, nor could she have explained what she'd done in the library for the rest of the evening. She'd wanted to march up to Dumbledore's office and give him an earful about taking advantage of youthful bravery and idealism, but she knew better.

Near midnight, she threw her blankets off and yanked on her dressing gown. She hadn't been able to sleep, and since she couldn't sleep she might as well do something useful. On bare feet (which was a stupid idea, since the floors were cold stone), Hermione hurried through the corridors and slipped into the Room of Requirement. The castle wouldn't give her the lab, though. She went out and in three times, but each time it just gave her the room with the armchairs, the fireplace, the spindly table with the pitcher of water.

"Bloody stubborn castle," Hermione muttered, slamming the door behind her. All satisfaction was lost in the slam, however, because the door didn't make a sound. She scowled and took a seat in her usual chair, folding her legs up under her and staring into the fire. The pitcher of water transformed into a steaming pot of tea, almost like an apology.

She was on her third cup when he joined her. She wondered how long he'd been there. He stood just inside the door. Staring.

"What's the matter?" she asked, setting aside her tea and going to him. He looked awful. He was in shirtsleeves, the top few buttons of his shirt undone, his hair pulled back into a knot at the top of his head. He had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept at all the night before.

"What's the _matter_?" he repeated, snorting, almost rolling his eyes. He tried to run a hand through his hair, but it snagged on the knot. Exasperated, he'd rolled up his sleeves instead.

He was fidgeting. It was a bad sign.

"Professor, what's the matter?" she asked, pouring him a cup of tea and holding it out. After a long moment standing there beside the door like he wasn't sure if he was going to stay or go, he sat down in his usual chair. She had to grab his hand and put the teacup into it, jarring him into focus. "Tell me what happened. Are you hurt? _Professor Snape_."

"Fuck," he said, looking down into his tea. "Don't call me that."

"I never called you a fuck," she said flippantly, retaking her seat with her legs folded up under her. She sipped her own tea, watching him over the top of her glass. He snorted at her quip, which was lucky because she'd half expected him to go back to staring around the room lost in his own thoughts.

"No. You're right," he said. "You called me a rude bloody bastard, and an arrogant bum-fucking high-handed big-headed tit-wanker."

"I did," she said, blushing. He smirked.

"Rude, yes. Bastard, technically no. Arrogant, sometimes. Bum-fucking, no. High-handed, usually. Big-headed, same as arrogant. Tit-wanker, also no."

She smiled at him, nervous. She didn't know what to make of his mood.

"You also called me 'professor,' and that is the most accurate of all. And I never want you to call me that again. Or 'sir.' I hate it when you call me 'sir.'"

He looked away from her, staring into the depth of the fire. Hermione froze. She had no idea what to say, what to do. Her heart felt like it was trying to escape her bloody ribcage and her hands had gone cold despite the teacup between them.

They were quiet for a long time. The fire crackled. Her tea went cold.

He hadn't finished his tea, but he set it aside and sat forward. He put his head down, his elbows on his knees, his hands on the back of his head. He looked… defeated.

She acted on impulse. Before she could question it, she sat on the arm of his chair. She put the back of her hand against the back of his neck, and he let out a shuddering breath and went still. She stroked the back of his neck; there were fine hairs that hadn't made it into his bun. He let out a shuddering sigh at the contact.

"I've never done this," he said, speaking to his knees. He pressed his palms to his eyes. She didn't stop stroking her fingers along the back of his neck, gently, hoping the touch was soothing. "I promised myself I never would. One thing nobody could ask of me."

"Nobody could ask you to do what?"

"Touch a student in my care."

"You haven't touched me."

"But I want to." He looked up at her and her fingers went still against his neck. Her heart raced.

His eyes were brown, so dark she'd always assumed they were black. They were sort of beautiful.

"I'm going to."

Hermione kept her hand still on the back of his neck and leaned into him to kiss his forehead. She'd thought, for a moment, to kiss his lips, but he looked so… She didn't have a word for the look on his face.

The hand that wasn't on his neck rose and traced the lines of his face almost of its own volition. He had a good face. Eyebrows, cheekbones, nose, jaw. All strong, angular. She'd noticed at some point over the summer that she found him handsome, but she'd been doing a very good job of ignoring it.

He was absolutely still while her fingers traced across his cheeks, around the curve of an ear.

"I can wait as long as you need me to," she said, putting her forehead against his and closing her eyes. "It won't be so long before I'm not your student anymore, and then—"

His hand on her cheek stopped her. Her eyes flew open and she stared down at him, so very close.

"I want to show you something," he said. She blinked and began to pull away, but he held her close. "No, look in."

"Alright," she said, repositioning herself more stably on the arm of his chair and touching his cheek again. " _Legilimens_."

 _"_ _Narcissa!" Severus said, opening the front door at Spinner's End so that the hall light illuminated Mrs. Malfoy and the hooded woman with her. Mrs. Malfoy was so pale she seemed to shine in the darkness, her long blonde hair streaming around her like a drowning victim. "What a pleasant surprise!"_

 _"_ _Severus," Mrs. Malfoy said in a strangled whisper. "May I speak to you? It's urgent."_

 _"_ _But of course."_

 _Severus stood back to let her into the house and the other followed without invitation._

 _"_ _Snape," the one in the hood said curtly._

 _"_ _Bellatrix," he replied, and a chill went up Hermione's spine even from outside the memory. Severus just smiled at her, though, almost mocking. He closed the door with a snap behind the sisters._

 _The sitting room at Spinner's End was tiny. The walls were completely covered in books, most of them bound in old black or brown leather; a threadbare sofa, an old armchair, and a rickety table stood grouped together in the pool of dim light cast by a candle-filled lamp hung from the ceiling._

 _Severus gestured Mrs. Malfoy to the sofa, and Bellatrix moved to stand behind her sister. They both took off their cloaks, and they were an interesting study of differences—one dark, one fair._

 _"_ _So, what can I do for you?" Severus asked, settling in the armchair._

 _"_ _We—we are alone, aren't we?" Mrs. Malfoy asked quietly._

 _"_ _Yes, of course. Well, Wormtail's here, but we're not counting vermin, are we?" He pointed his wand at the books behind him and, with a bang, a hidden door flew open to reveal a narrow staircase upon which Peter Pettigrew stood frozen. "As you have clearly realized, Wormtail, we have guests."_

 _"_ _Narcissa!" Wormtail said in a squeaky voice. He crept, hunchbacked, down the last few steps and moved into the room. Hermione had never seen him in proper light before, and it didn't do him any favors. He had small, watery eyes, a pointed nose, and wore an unpleasant simper. "And Bellatrix! How charming—"_

 _"_ _Wormtail will get us drinks, if you'd like them," Severus said. "And then he will return to his bedroom."_

 _Wormtail winced like Severus had thrown something at him. It made Hermione strangely pleased to see it. She wondered if he'd ever actually thrown anything at the rat; she had to resist the urge to trace the idea back for a different memory._

 _"_ _I am not your servant!" Wormtail squeaked, avoiding Severus's eyes._

 _"_ _Really? I was under the impression that the Dark Lord placed you here to assist me."_

 _"_ _To assist, yes—but not to make you drinks and—and clean your house!"_

 _"_ _I had no idea, Wormtail, that you were craving more dangerous assignments. This can be easily arranged I shall speak to the Dark Lord—"_

 _"_ _I can speak to him myself if I want to!"_

 _"_ _Of course you can." Severus sneered. "But in the meantime, bring us drinks. Some of the elf-made wine will do."_

 _Wormtail hesitated, then brought the wine. Severus poured, and they toasted the Dark Lord._

 _"_ _Severus," Mrs. Malfoy said, "I'm sorry to come here like this, but I had to see you. I think you are the only one who can help me—"_

 _Severus held up his hand, then pointed his wand again at the concealed staircase door. There was a loud bang and a squeal followed by the sound of Wormtail scurrying back up the stairs._

 _"_ _My apologies," he said. "He has lately taken to listening at doors. I don't know what he means by it… You were saying, Narcissa?"_

 _"_ _Severus," Mrs. Malfoy said after taking a great shuddering breath, "I know I ought not to be here, I have been told to say nothing to anyone, but—"_

 _"_ _Then you ought to hold your tongue!" snarled Bellatrix. "Particularly in present company!"_

 _"'_ _Present company?' And what am I to understand by that, Bellatrix?"_

 _"_ _That I don't trust you, Snape, as you very well know!"_

 _Mrs. Malfoy made a sound that was almost a sob. Severus set down his glass and sat back, smiling at Belatrix's frown._

 _"_ _Narcissa, I think we out to hear what Bellatrix is bursting to say; it will save tedious interruptions. Well, continue, Bellatrix. Why is it that you do not trust me?"_

 _"_ _A hundred reasons!" she cried, striding out from behind the sofa to slam her glass on the table. "Where to start! Where were you when the Dark Lord fell? Why did you never make any attempts to find him when he vanished? What have you been doing all these years that you've lived in Dumbledore's pocket? Why did you stop the Dark Lord procuring the Sorcerer's Stone? Why did you not return at once when the Dark Lord was reborn? Where were you a few weeks ago when we battled to retrieve the prophecy for the Dark Lord? And why, Snape, is Harry Potter still alive when you have had him at your mercy for five years?"_

 _The woman looked utterly unhinged, but Severus just smiled._

 _"_ _Before I answer you—oh yes, Bellatrix, I am going to answer. You can carry my words back to the others who whisper behind my back, and carry false tales of my treachery to the Dark Lord! Before I answer you, I say, let me ask a question in turn. Do you really think that the Dark Lord has not asked me each and every one of those questions? And do you really think that, had I not been able to give satisfactory answers, I would be sitting here talking to you?"_

 _Bellatrix hesitated._

 _"_ _I know he believes you, but…"_

 _"_ _You think he is mistaken? Or that I have somehow hoodwinked him? Fooled the Dark Lord, the greatest wizard, the most accomplished Legilimens the world has ever seen?"_

 _Bellatrix finally looked properly uncomfortable. Severus picked up his drink again and sipped, leisurely._

 _"_ _You ask where I was when the Dark Lord fell. I was where he had ordered me to be, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, because he wished me to spy upon Albus Dumbledore. You know, I presume, that it was on the Dark Lord's orders that I took up the post?"_

 _Bellatrix nodded, then opened her mouth to say something but Severus continued first._

 _"_ _You ask why I did not attempt to find him when he vanished. For the same reason that Avery, Yaxley, the Carrows, Greyback, Lucius, and many others did not attempt to find him. I believed him finished. I am not proud of it, I was wrong, but there it is… If he had not forgiven we who lost faith at that time, he would have very few followers left."_

 _"_ _He'd have me! I, who spent many years in Azkaban for him!"_

 _"_ _Yes, indeed, most admirable," he said, bored. "Of course, you weren't a lot of use to him in prison, but the gesture was undoubtedly fine—"_

 _"_ _Gesture!" Bellatrix shrieked. "While I endured the dementors, you remained at Hogwarts, comfortably playing Dumbledore's pet!"_

 _"_ _Not quite. He wouldn't give me the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, you know. Seemed to think it might, ah, bring about a relapse… tempt me into my old ways."_

 _"_ _This was your sacrifice for the Dark Lord, not to teach your favorite subject? Why did you stay there all that time, Snape? Still spying on Dumbledore for a master you believed dead?"_

 _"_ _Hardly, although the Dark Lord is pleased that I never deserted my post: I had sixteen years of information on Dumbledore to give him when he returned, a rather more useful welcome-back present than endless reminiscences of how unpleasant Azkaban is…"_

 _"_ _But you stayed—"_

 _"_ _Yes, Bellatrix, I stayed," he snapped. "I had a comfortable job that I preferred to a stint in Azkaban. They were rounding up the Death Eaters, you know. Dumbledore's protection kept me out of jail; it was most convenient and I used it. I repeat: The Dark Lord does not complain that I stayed, so I do not see why you do._

 _"_ _I think you next wanted to know," he said, louder since Bellatrix looked like she wanted to interrupt, "why I stood between the Dark Lord and the Sorcerer's Stone. That is easily answered. He did not know whether he could trust me. He thought, like you, that I had turned from faithful Death Eater to Dumbledore's stooge. He was in a pitiable condition, very weak, sharing the body of a mediocre wizard. He did not dare reveal himself to a former ally if that ally might turn him over to Dumbledore or the Ministry. I deeply regret that he did not trust me. He would have returned to power three years sooner. As it was, I saw only greedy and unworthy Quirrell attempting to steal the stone and, I admit, I did all I could to thwart him."_

 _"_ _But you didn't return when he came back, you didn't fly back to him at once when you felt the Dark Mark burn—"_

 _"_ _Correct. I returned two hours later. I returned on Dumbledore's orders."_

 _"_ _On Dumbledore's—?"_

 _"_ _Think!" Severus snapped. "Think! By waiting two hours, just two hours, I ensured that I could remain at Hogwarts as a spy! By allowing Dumbledore to think that I was only returning to the Dark Lord's side because I was ordered to, I have been able to pass information on Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix ever since! Consider, Bellatrix: The Dark Mark had been growing stronger for months. I knew he must be about to return, all the Death Eaters knew! I had plenty of time to think about what I wanted to do, to play my next move, to escape like Karkaroff, didn't I?_

 _"_ _The Dark Lord's initial displeasure at my lateness vanished entirely, I assure you, when I explained that I remained faithful, although Dumbledore thought I was his man. Yes, the Dark Lord thought that I had left him forever, but he was wrong."_

 _"_ _But what use have you been? What useful information have we had from you?"_

 _"_ _My information has been conveyed directly to the Dark Lord. If he chooses not to share it with you—"_

 _"_ _He shares everything with me! He calls me his most loyal, his most faithful—"_

 _"_ _Does he? Does he_ still _, after the fiasco at the Ministry?"_

 _"_ _That was not my fault! The Dark Lord has, in the past, entrusted me with his most precious—if Lucius hadn't—"_

 _"_ _Don't you dare—don't you_ dare _blame my husband!" Mrs. Malfoy interceded, her voice low and deadly._

 _"_ _There is no point apportioning blame," Severus interrupted. "What is done, is done."_

 _"_ _But not by you!" Bellatrix cried, furious. "No, you were once again absent while the rest of us ran dangers, were you not, Snape?"_

 _"_ _My orders were to remain behind. Perhaps you disagree with the Dark Lord, perhaps you think that Dumbledore would not have noticed if I had joined forces with the Death Eaters to fight the Order of the Phoenix? And—forgive me—you speak of dangers… you were facing six teenagers, were you not?"_

 _"_ _They were joined, as you very well know, by half the Order before long," Bellatrix snarled. "And, while we are on the subject of the Order, you still claim you cannot reveal the whereabouts of their headquarters, don't you?"_

 _"_ _I am not the Secret-Keeper; I cannot speak the name of the place. You understand how the enchantment works, I think? The Dark Lord is satisfied with the information I have passed him on the Order. It led, as perhaps you have guessed, to the recent capture and murder of Emmeline Vance, and it certainly helped dispose of Sirius Black, though I give you full credit for finishing him off."_

 _He inclined his head to her, but her expression didn't soften._

 _"_ _You are avoiding my last question, Snape. Harry Potter. you could have killed him at any point in the past five years. You have not done it. Why?"_

 _"_ _Have you discussed this matter with the Dark Lord?"_

 _"_ _He… lately, we… I am asking you, Snape!"_

 _"_ _If I had murdered Harry Potter, the Dark Lord could not have used his blood to regenerate, making him invincible—"_

 _"_ _You claim you foresaw his use of the boy!"_

 _"_ _I do not claim it; I had no idea of his plans; I have already confessed that I thought the Dark Lord dead. I am merely trying to explain why the Dark Lord is not sorry that Potter survived, at least until a year ago…"_

 _"_ _But why did you keep him alive?"_

 _"_ _Have you not understood me? It was only Dumbledore's protection that was keeping me out of Azkaban! Do you disagree that murdering his favorite student might have turned him against me? But there was more to it than that. I should remind you that when Potter first arrived at Hogwarts there were still many stories circulating about him, rumors that he himself was a great Dark wizard, which was how he survived the Dark Lord's attack. Indeed, many of the Dark Lord's old followers thought Potter might be a standard around which we could all rally once more. I was curious, I admit it, and not at all inclined to murder him the moment he set foot in the castle._

 _"_ _Of course, it became apparent to me very quickly that he had no extraordinary talent at all. He has fought his way out of a number of tight corners by a simple combination of sheer luck and more talented friends. He is mediocre to the last degree, though as obnoxious and self-satisfied as was his father before him. I have done my utmost to have him thrown out of Hogwarts, where I believe he scarcely belongs, but kill him, or allow him to be killed in front of me? I would have been a fool to risk it with Dumbledore close at hand."_

 _"_ _And through all this we are supposed to believe Dumbledore has never suspected you? He has no idea of your true allegiance, he trusts you implicitly still?"_

 _"_ _I have played my part well. And you overlook Dumbledore's greatest weakness: He has to believe the best of people. I spun him a tale of deepest remorse when I joined his staff, fresh from my Death Eater days, and he embraced me with open arms—though, as I say, never allowing me nearer the Dark Arts than he could help. Dumbledore has been a great wizard—oh, yes he has." He pinned Bellatrix with a look when she made a scathing noise. "The Dark Lord acknowledges it. I am pleased to say, however, that Dumbledore is growing old. The duel with the Dark Lord last month shook him. He has since sustained a serious injury because his reactions are slower than they once were. But through all these years, he has never stopped trusting Severus Snape, and therein lies my greatest value to the Dark Lord." Bellatrix looked mutinous but remained silent. Severus turned to Mrs. Malfoy. "Now… you came to ask me for help, Narcissa?"_

 _"_ _Yes, Severus." Her look of despair could've won acting awards. "I—I think you are the only one who can help me, I have nowhere else to turn. Lucius is in jail and…" She closed her eyes and two large tears seeped from beneath her eyelids. "The Dark Lord has forbidden me to speak of it. He wishes none to know of the plan. It is.. very secret. But—"_

 _"_ _If he has forbidden it, you ought not to speak," Severus said. "The Dark Lord's word is law."_

 _"_ _There!" Bellatrix said, triumphant. She looked satisfied for the first time since she had entered the house. "Even Snape says so: You were told not to talk, so hold your silence!"_

 _Severus walked to the window and looked down on the deserted street. He turned back, frowning._

 _"_ _It so happens that I know of the plan," he said in a low voice. "I am one of the few the Dark Lord has told. Nevertheless, had I not been in on the secret, Narcissa, you would have been guilty of great treachery to the Dark Lord."_

 _"_ _I thought you must know about it!" Mrs. Malfoy said, breathing more freely. "He trusts you so, Severus…"_

 _"_ _You know about the plan?" Bellatrix said, the look of satisfaction quickly replaced by outrage. "_ You _know?"_

 _"_ _Certainly," Severus said. "But what help do you require, Narcissa? If you are imagining I can persuade the Dark Lord to change his mind, I am afraid there is no hope, none at all."_

 _"_ _Severus," she whispered, tears sliding down her pale cheeks. "My son… my only son…"_

 _"_ _Draco should be proud," Bellatrix said, indifferent. "The Dark Lord is granting him a great honor. And I will say this for Draco: he isn't shrinking away from his duty, he seems glad of a chance to prove himself, excited for the prospect—"_

 _Mrs. Malfoy began crying in earnest, her eyes on Severus._

 _"_ _That's because he is sixteen and has no idea what lies in store! Why, Severus? Why my son? It is too dangerous! This is vengeance for Lucius's mistake, I know it!"_

 _Severus looked out the window again. He looked, in a word, uncomfortable._

 _"_ _That's why he's chosen Draco, isn't it?" Mrs. Malfoy pressed. "To punish Lucius?"_

 _"_ _If Draco succeeds," Severus said, still looking away, "he will be honored above all others."_

 _"_ _But he won't succeed! How can he, when the Dark Lord, himself—?"_

 _Bellatrix gasped, and Mrs. Malfoy pressed her lips together._

 _"_ _I only meant… that nobody has yet succeeded… Severus… please… You are, you have always been, Draco's favorite teacher… You are Lucius's old friend… I beg you… You are the Dark Lord's favorite, his most trusted advisor… Will you speak to him, persuade him—?"_

 _"_ _The Dark Lord will not be persuaded, and I am not stupid enough to attempt it," Severus said flatly. "I cannot pretend that the Dark Lord is not angry with Lucius. Lucius was supposed to be in charge. He got himself captured, along with how many others, and failed to retrieve the prophecy into the bargain. Yes, the Dark Lord is angry, Narcissa, very angry indeed."_

 _"_ _Then I am right, he has chosen Draco in revenge! He does not mean him to succeed, he wants him to be killed trying!"_

 _Severus said nothing. He stood by the window. Mrs. Malfoy stood and staggered to him, grabbing the front of his robes. Her tears were falling onto his chest as she spoke._

 _"_ _You could do it._ You _could do it instead of Draco, Severus. You would succeed, of course you would, and he would reward you beyond all of us—"_

 _Severus grabbed her wrists and moved her away from him. He looked down at her and spoke slowly. "He intends me to do it in the end, I think. But he is determined that Draco should try first. You see, in the unlikely event that Draco succeeds, I shall be able to remain at Hogwarts a little longer, fulfilling my useful role as a spy."_

 _"_ _In other words, it doesn't matter to him if Draco is killed!"_

 _"_ _The Dark Lord is very angry," Severus said quietly. "He failed to hear the prophecy. You know as well as I do, Narcissa, that he does not forgive easily."_

 _Mrs. Malfoy fell at his feet, moaning on the floor. "My son… my only son…"_

 _"_ _You should be proud!" Bellatrix hissed. "If I had sons, I would be glad to give them up to the service of the Dark Lord!"_

 _Mrs. Malfoy screamed and clutched at her hair. Severus stooped and lifted her up by a strong grip on her arms, steering her back to the sofa. He poured her another glass of wine and put it in her hand._

 _"_ _Narcissa, that's enough. Drink this. Listen to me." She managed to slosh wine down herself. "It might be possible… for me to help Draco."_

 _She sat up, paper-white, eyes huge. "Severus—oh, Severus—you would help him? Would you look after him, see he comes to no harm?"_

 _"_ _I can try."_

 _Mrs. Malfoy flung herself down to kneel at his feet. She grabbed his hand and kissed it._

 _"_ _If you are there to protect him… Severus, will you swear it? Will you make the Unbreakable Vow?"_

 _"_ _The Unbreakable Vow?"_

 _His face had gone utterly blank. Hermione knew he must've been Occluding from the way the color sort of dimmed in the memory._

 _Bellatrix cackled._

 _"_ _Aren't you listening, Narcissa? Oh, he'll_ try _, I'm sure… The usual empty words, the usual slithering out of action… oh, on the Dark Lord's orders, of course!"_

 _"_ _Certainly, Narcissa," Severus said without looking at Bellatrix. "I shall make the Unbreakable Vow. Perhaps your sister will consent to be our Bonder."_

 _Bellatrix's mouth fell open. Severus knelt opposite Mrs. Malfoy and they grasped right hands._

 _"_ _You will need your wand, Bellatrix," Severus said coldly. She drew it, still looking astonished. "And you will need to move a little closer."_

 _Scowling, Bellatrix stepped forward so that she stood over them, and placed the tip of her wand on their linked hands._

 _"_ _Will you, Severus, watch over my son, Draco, as he attempts to fulfill the Dark Lord's wishes?"_

 _"_ _I will."_

 _A thin tongue of brilliant flame issued from the wand and wound its way around their hands like a red-hot wire. The memory itself seemed to glow red-orange around the edges._

 _"_ _And will you, to the best of your ability, protect him from harm?"_

 _"_ _I will."_

 _A second tongue of flame shot from the wand and interlinked with the first, making a fine, glowing chain. All the blues and greens sort of faded from the memory._

 _"_ _And, should it prove necessary… if it seems Draco will fail…" whispered Mrs. Malfoy, "will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?"_

 _There was a moment's silence. Severus had twitched when Mrs. Malfoy began her last term of the Vow, but Mrs. Malfoy hadn't noticed. Bellatrix's eyes were wide._

 _"_ _I will."_

 _Their faces glowed red in the blaze of a third tongue of flame, which shot from the wand, twisted with the others and bound itself thickly around their clasped hands, like a rope, like a fiery snake. The memory went entirely red, then white, and then returned to normal._

Hermione slipped clumsily out of his mind, dropping onto a memory from Severus's school days on her way out. The first time he'd met the Black sisters, they'd been having a fight. He'd been eleven years old; they'd been in the common room bickering about something or other. They'd been a little bit terrifying, screeching at each other.

"I wish you hadn't done that," she said, closing her eyes again.

"You'd rather not know?"

"I wish you hadn't made the Vow!" she snapped, sitting back to glare at him.

"It was the best way."

"You walk a very fine line," she said through clenched teeth.

"I'm good at it."

"Because you've been doing it since you were fifteen," she said, bitter. He almost smiled at her.

"I'd like to kiss you."

"Okay."

He laughed. "I wasn't asking permission; it was an admission of guilt."

"Severus Snape," she said, waiting until he looked at her before she continued, "you are allowed to touch me wherever you please and kiss me whenever you like."

"Don't tempt me."

She returned to her own chair, folding her legs under her again. "It's just something you should know."

"You are a student. _My_ student."

"I know." She rubbed her forehead, finally beginning to feel tired.

"Is that all you're going to say, then?" he asked after a moment. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"What else is there to say?"

"About the Vow."

"I can't think what else to say about that, either. Not at the moment. I'm furious you did it and I'm trying not to think about it because you'll probably end up dead. I don't know if I'm angrier with you about it, or the headmaster!" She felt like throwing something—preferably throwing something at _him_ —but there was nothing to hand except the tea, and that would be a mess. "God _damn_ it, Severus!"

"There are… plans. We really did know what was coming. The headmaster has taken steps."

"You mean he has other spies to fall back on."

"There are other spies, I'm sure, but that's not what I meant. I meant that there is a plan for carrying on once he is dead."

"What?"

"Albus Dumbledore is dying," he said, looking away from her to pour himself a fresh cup of tea. He didn't continue until he'd sat back in his chair again with the cup to warm his hands. "His hand, his whole arm now, is slowly killing him. He has months left, maybe a year."

"And the Vow?"

"It ends with Dumbledore's death. Draco was tasked with killing him."

"At least Harry's not entirely crazy."

"Your friend is putting himself in danger. Again." Severus shot her a glare, but the weight of it was spoiled by the soft glow of the fire on his cheekbones and the steaming teacup in his hands. "Draco is scared."

"Of course he is. He doesn't want to do it."

"He wants to want to do it, and that is what scares him. He knows it isn't the right thing."

"So you're going to do it for him."

"Unless the curse does it first."

"And meanwhile Harry is in the way and he might end up collateral damage."

"And if Draco accidentally kills him, the Dark Lord will kill Draco, which will, in turn, kill me."

"So stop Harry up. I can do that."

"Don't. Dumbledore needs him in full form."

"What for?"

"That's a secret that I know that you already know." He smirked, then used his classroom voice, saying, " You're fishing, Miss Granger. Feeling me out."

She smiled at him and was immediately annoyed with him for making her smile.

"The headmaster has already made Harry the good soldier he made you. Maybe he'd even done it the moment he stepped on the train."

"Oh, he surely did." Severus crossed one leg over the other at the knee and stared down into his tea. "The boy's whole life, from the moment his parents died, was an introduction to the game. Sending him to live with those _people_ , then sending the gentle giant to rescue him."

"That gentle giant has rescued me just the same. Don't—"

"I am not disparaging Hagrid; he's a good man."

"Alright then."

"Harry Potter has been raised to this game deliberately where I fell into it. And now here you are, too. Playing into the hand."

"Playing the hand I've been dealt, more like."

"No. The Weasleys are playing the hand they were dealt. Purebloods by chance, good people by upbringing. They're doing the right thing for the right reason, and they're keeping their children out of it while they can."

"But my parents aren't able to keep me out of it."

"Your parents are only in it because you are in it."

"Thanks." She frowned.

"It is what it is. I'm not blaming you."

"I _am_ to blame."

"My father knows about magic because I exist. He hates my mother because magic exists. Thus I am to blame for the catastrophe that was my childhood, the dissolution of their marriage, my father's jail time, my mother's disfigurement, and my own presence on the shore of the lake the Christmas Dumbledore recruited me."

"That's ridiculous. You didn't _choose_ to be born to them, or to be a wizard! You didn't make your father react the way he did."

"And you didn't _choose_ to be born to your parents, or to be a witch. You didn't make the Dark Lord hate."

"Thank you."

She got herself another cup of tea.

* * *

A/N: This chapter is the first of the repostings!


	13. Chapter 13: EDITED

TWELVE

Class was, in a word, awkward. Tuesdays were his only day that didn't involve a lesson with Hermione in some capacity; it had been a half moment's reprieve. On Wednesday, his first class had her in it. Sixth year Defense. Then he saw her again late in the evening for Legilimency.

In Defense, she paired with Longbottom as per usual. She was distracted—by him or by her thoughts, he couldn't be sure. Either way, she didn't go easy on Longbottom in the least. Poor boy would have bruises.

The central portion of the day was a blur. He went through the motions, gave his second years a pop quiz, removed points from Gryffindor for the slightest offense, and ribbed Minerva about Quidditch. He had a long talk with Prudence Willoughby, one of his Prefects, about the proper disposal of confiscated objects (one did not, for example, confiscate a Skiving Snackbox for personal use) during his free period. He managed half an hour to nap just before dinner, but woke feeling restless, irritable, and still tired.

He watched her at dinner, but tried not to look like he was watching her. She looked awful. Pale with dark circles under her eyes.

He tackled his marking after dinner, setting her essay aside for last because it was sure to be more interesting than any of the others. Then he pulled it back forward and did it first, because it was just stupid to sit there and anticipate marking an essay.

At nine o'clock, he went to the Room of Requirement. She met him at the door, and he held it open for her. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, and also he liked the whiff of vanilla that trailed in her wake, probably from some hair product or another. (That sounded creepy, even in his own mind, so he pushed the thought away and focused on the good manners of holding the door open for the woman to go first.)

They both sat and stared around the room, awkward, for a moment before he decided to push on with the lessons. There was nothing (and everything) to discuss. It was a moot point, whether they talked about it or not.

"You noticed the last time that you slid to another memory when you withdrew?"

"Yes."

The lack of the 'sir' was strangely noticeable. He didn't like that the 'sir' still hung between them. They both knew it should be there.

"That's a matter of focus. You'll find it happens not infrequently when you use Legilimency on someone who has used Legilimency before. The mind knows how the spell works, if the subject is amenable—if no Occlumency is being employed, if they _want_ to share information—those jumps happen." He poured himself a glass of water and ignored the way her eyes followed his hands. The way her pupils dilated. "We will begin with that tonight. Work on your focus as you withdraw."

"We're still pretending that I'm going to teach Harry," she said.

"Yes," he replied, as if it had been a question.

"Right."

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded and set his water aside. She drew her wand and cast the spell.

 _"_ _Get outta my house!" Toby Snape bellowed, dragging his wife through the sitting room—cleaner than Severus kept it (because it seemed all his mother was allowed to do to occupy her time was to clean), and with less in it—and shoving her against the door. She hit it hard and tried to catch herself with her hands, but he'd already broken her arm and the impact made her scream. She cracked her face on the door frame._

 _"_ _Da!" Severus shouted, striding down the hall, the wand in his pocket forgotten in favor of his bare hands. "Get away from her!"_

 _"_ _You stay outta this,_ boy _," Toby slurred. He threw a boot at Severus, then a pair of grubby old shoes. "My house, my wife, my rules."_

 _"_ _Da!" He hadn't had the volume or the authority he'd developed as a teacher, but the raw beginnings of both were there. Even when he was screaming, terrified his father was about to murder his mother, it was more of a bellow that a shriek._

 _"_ _Get back, boy!" Toby said, and jabbed him in the stomach with the broom handle. Severus stumbled back, surprised. The jab would leave a large bruise on his lower abdomen that would later be photographed by the Muggle police. It was just beneath the scars left when Remus Lupin had scratched him in werewolf form; they were red and raw-looking at the full moon for a full decade after they'd otherwise healed. The Muggles had assumed the worst, especially when he had refused to explain them; it had been another exhibit brought against his father._

 _Toby had been pelting Mam with her things from the closet as he threw the random heavy object at Severus. Her coat, her shoes, her gloves, her hat. She'd struggled with the door, finally turning the handle and falling out onto the porch when he got his hands on the broom. It wasn't an enchanted broom, it didn't fly. It didn't even sweep particularly well._

 _"_ _You want to fly away, I suppose," Toby snarled, his voice low and dangerous now that the door was open and the afternoon sunlight was streaming in. The neighborhood was full of potential witnesses. Most around wouldn't report him individually, but it was a Sunday morning and there were people just back from church all over the street, still chatting with their neighbors._

 _Toby's ranting was too quiet for Severus to hear from inside the house. The odd curse word carried._

 _When he raised the broom to her, Severus ran for the door and darted out. Toby got three good hits in—solid_ thwap _s carrying down the block, echoing strangely in his memory—before Severus wrestled the broom away. Toby punched him in the mouth when he lost the broom, and Severus landed on his ass, dazed. Toby had turned his fists to his wife next, and then the police had arrived to pull him off her._

"There was this group, aid for battered women. They took her in," he said after Hermione had withdrawn from the memory. "He went to jail. She filed for divorce."

"Is he dead?"

"Da? No. He's in court-mandated rehab right now, I think. I haven't seen him since the summer before you came to Hogwarts. He's been in and out of jail, rehab, halfway houses."

"And my parents are hiding at your mother's house."

"Yes." He smiled, but he knew it was a weak smile. "I haven't seen her since that day. Not alone," he picked up his water again and downed it, poured himself another glass. "We were both at the hearings for awhile. I gave testimony, got her the house."

"She signed it over to you?"

"Yes. She didn't want anything to do with it. Or me."

"She found out you'd taken the Mark."

"Yes."

"Dumbledore lets her run a safe house for the Order, but won't tell her you're working for him, too?"

"Very few members of the Order even know that there _are_ spies among the Death Eaters, never mind that I am one."

"I see."

He raised his eyebrow but didn't say anything. More than likely she _did_ see. It was a very strange thing.

"You should try again," he said, and again set aside the glass. "It was a shocking memory, one with a definite end. We'll use one less distinct this time. Remember to focus."

" _Legilimens_."

 _"_ _All right, Snivellus?" a boy who looked like Harry, down to the way his hair stuck up in the back, shouted._

 _In the memory, Severus dropped his bag and reached for his wand. He had it half drawn when James—because it had to be James Potter—shouted, "_ Expelliarmus _!"_

 _The wand flew out of his hand and landed on the grass behind him. Sirius let out a bark of laughter._

 _"_ Impedimenta! _" Sirius called, knocking Severus off his feet as he dove toward his wand._

 _Students all around turned to watch. Some of them had stood and were edging nearer, forming up a circle around the spectacle. Some looked apprehensive, others entertained. Severus lay on the ground in the middle of it. James and Sirius advanced on him, wands up, James looking over his shoulder at the girls on the water's edge. Wormtail was on his feet, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a better view._

 _"_ _How'd the exam go, Snivelly?" James asked, almost taunting._

 _"_ _I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment," Sirius said. He was_ definitely _taunting. "There's be great grease marks all over it. They won't be able to read a word."_

 _A few of the spectators laughed. Wormtail sniggered shrilly. Severus tried to get up, but the jinx still had him. He looked like he was struggling against invisible ropes._

 _"_ _You—wait," he panted, glaring up at them with an expression of purest loathing. "You—wait…"_

 _"_ _Wait for what?" Sirius asked coolly. "What're you going to do, Snivelly? Wipe your nose on us?"_

 _Severus let out a stream of mixed swear words and hexes, but he hadn't got the hang of wandless curses yet so nothing happened._

 _"_ _Wash out your mouth," James said coldly. "_ Scourgify _!"_

 _Pink soap bubbles streamed from Severus's mouth; the froth covered his lips, making him gag, choking him._

 _"_ _Leave him ALONE!"_

 _James and Sirius looked around. James ruffled up his hair._

 _Lily Evans strode over from the lake's edge. Harry really did have her eyes._

 _"_ _All right, Evans?" James asked, the tone of his voice suddenly pleasant._

 _"_ _Leave him alone," Lily repeated. She scowled at James. "What's he done to you?"_

 _"_ _Well," James said, making a show of thinking about his answer, "it's more the fact that he_ exists _, if you know what I mean…"_

 _Many of the surrounding watchers laughed, Sirius and Wormtail included. Lupin, still apparently intent on his book, didn't. And neither did Lily._

 _"_ _You think you're funny," Lily said coldly. "But you're just an arrogant, bullying, toerag, Potter. Leave him_ alone _."_

 _"I will if you go out with me, Evans," said James quickly. "Go on… Go out with me, and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again."_

 _Behind them, Severus had begun to throw off the jinx. He inched toward his fallen wand, spitting out soap as he crawled._

 _"_ _I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid."_

 _"_ _Bad luck, Prongs," Sirius said, then caught sight of Severus. "OY!"_

 _Too late. Severus had his wand pointed straight at James. There was a flash of light, and a gash appeared on the side of James's face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled; a second flash of light later, Severus hung upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants._

 _Many of the spectators cheered. Sirius, James and Wormtail roared with laughter._

 _Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, said, "Let him down!"_

 _"_ _Certainly," James said, jerking his wand upward. Severus fell in a crumpled heap. He flailed, disentangling himself from his robes, and lurched to his feet._

 _"_ Locomotor mortis _!" Sirius called, and Severus fell over again, rigid as a board._

 _"_ _LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Lily shrieked. She had her own wand out now, and James and Sirius eyed it warily._

 _"_ _Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you," James said earnestly._

 _"_ _Take the curse off him, then!"_

 _James sighed, then turned to Severus and murmured the countercurse._

 _"_ _There you go," he said. Severus struggled to his feet. "You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus—"_

 _"_ _I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!"_

 _Lily blinked. "Fine," she said coolly. "I won't bother in future. And I'd wash your pants if I was you,_ Snivellus _."_

 _"_ _Apologize to Evans!" James roared, his wand pointed at Severus again._

 _"_ _I don't want_ you _to make him apologize," Lily shouted, rounding on James. "You're as bad as he is…"_

 _"_ _What?" yelped James. "I'd NEVER call you a—you-know-what!"_

 _"_ _Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can—I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK."_

 _Lily walked away, not even turning when James called after her._

* * *

Hermione made to withdraw from the memory, but she was distracted. Her focus wasn't the best. She caught a snippet of a later memory. Severus later that night, sitting in the privacy of his four poster's hangings, crying because he had had to cut himself off from his best friend.

"After that day, I had one of Lucius's stooges to escort me places. Avery. Other future Death Eaters," he said quietly.

"Do you intend for me to teach Harry Occlumency?" she asked, because he was teaching her Legilimency, but it seemed like he was doing it more to put his own history on display to her, to use the memories to make her understand… something, than to make her a good Legilimens who could help Harry lock his mind away from Voldemort.

"I don't think it will matter."

"Should I try?"

"It couldn't hurt. I don't believe it will help, though."

"Why not?"

"Find out."

"Severus—"

" _Find out_."

" _Legilimens_!"

She skipped along a few memories first. Dumbledore and Severus talking. The night Dumbledore's had been cursed and Severus had rushed to him. A staff meeting from the first week of first year, the teachers discussing the famous Harry Potter. Then, finally:

 _Severus and Dumbledore were walking together in the deserted castle grounds by twilight._

 _"_ _What are you doing with Potter, all these evening you are closeted together?" Severus asked abruptly. Dumbledore looked weary._

 _"_ _Why? You aren't trying to give him_ more _detentions, Severus? The boy will soon have spent more time in detention than out."_

 _"_ _He is his father all over again—"_

 _"_ _In looks, perhaps, but his deepest nature is much more like his mother's. I spend time with Harry because I have things to discuss with him, information I must give him before it is too late."_

 _"_ _Information," Severus repeated. "You trust him… you do not trust me."_

 _"_ _It is not a question of trust. I have, as we both know, limited time. It is essential that I give the boy enough information for him to do what he needs to do."_

 _"_ _And why may I not have the same information?"_

 _"_ _I prefer not to put all my secrets in one basket, particularly not a basket that spends so much time dangling on the arm of Lord Voldemort."_

 _"_ _Which I do on your orders!"_

 _"_ _And you do it extremely well. Do no think that I underestimate the constant danger in which you place yourself, Severus. To give Voldemort what appears to be valuable information while withholding the essentials is a job I would entrust to nobody but you."_

 _"_ _Yet you confide much more in a boy who is incapable of Occlumency, whose magic is mediocre, and who has a direct connection to the Dark Lord's mind!"_

 _"_ _Voldemort fears that connection," Dumbledore said. "Not so long ago he had one small taste of what truly sharing Harry's mind means to him. It was pain such as he has never experienced. He will not try to possess Harry again, I am sure of it. Not in that way."_

 _"_ _I don't understand."_

 _"_ _Lord Voldemort's soul, maimed as it is, cannot bear close contact with a soul like Harry's. Like a tongue on frozen steel, like flesh in flame—"_

 _"_ _Souls? We were talking of minds!"_

 _"_ _In the case of Harry and Lord Voldemort, to speak of one is to speak of the other."_

 _Dumbledore looked around the make sure that they were alone. They were close to the Forbidden Forest; no sign of anyone around them._

 _"_ _After you have killed me, Severus—"_

 _"_ _You refuse to tell me everything, yet you expect that small service of me," Severus snarled. "You take a great deal for granted, Dumbledore! Perhaps I have changed my mind!"_

 _"_ _You gave me your word, Severus. And while we are talking about services you owe me, I thought you agreed to keep a close eye on our young Slytherin friend?"_

 _Severus leveled a mutinous look on Dumbledore, but the headmaster just sighed._

 _"_ _Come to my office tonight, Severus, at eleven, and you shall not complain that I have no confidence in you…"_

The memory twisted away.

 _"_ _How are things at your house?" Lily asked, stretched out on the leafy ground._

 _"_ _Fine," he said, but there was a little crease between his eyes._

 _"_ _They're not arguing anymore?"_

 _"_ _Oh yes, they're arguing," Severus said. He picked up a fistful of leaves and began tearing them apart absently. "But it won't be that long and I'll be gone."_

 _"_ _Doesn't your dad like magic?"_

 _"_ _He doesn't like anything, much."_

 _"_ _Severus?"_

 _"_ _Yeah?"_

 _"_ _Tell me about the dementors again."_

 _"_ _What d'you want to know about them for?"_

 _"_ _If I use magic outside school—"_

 _"_ _They wouldn't give you to the dementors for that! Dementors are for people who do really bad stuff. They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban—"_

Hermione pushed forward, and the memory jumped again, back to the day of the earlier memory. Severus was in Dumbledore's office, the windows dark, Fawkes silent as Dumbledore paced around Severus's chair.

 _"_ _Harry must not know, not until the last moment, not until it is necessary, otherwise how could he have the strength to do what must be done?"_

 _"_ _But what must he do?"_

 _"_ _That is between Harry and me. Now listen closely, Severus. There will come a time—after my death—do not argue, do not interrupt! There will come a time when Lord Voldemort will seem to fear for the life of his snake."_

 _"_ _For Nagini?"_

 _"_ _Precisely. If there comes a time when Lord Voldemort stops sending that snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe to tell Harry."_

 _"_ _Tell him what?"_

 _Dumbledore took a deep breath and closed his eyes before he spoke. "Tell him that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort's soul was blasted apart from the whole and latched itself onto the only living soul left in that collapsing building. Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort's mind that he has never understood. And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die."_

 _"_ _So the boy… the boy must die?" Severus asked. The memory had faded, lost color. He'd been Occluding._

 _"_ _And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential."_

 _"_ _I thought… all these years… that we were protecting him."_

 _"_ _We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength," Dumbledore said, his eyes still tight shut. "Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth: Sometimes I have thought he suspects himself. If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will truly mean the end of Voldemort."_

 _Dumbledore opened his eyes. Severus looked horrified._

 _"_ _You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?"_

 _"_ _Don't be shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?"_

 _"_ _Lately, only those whom I could not save," Severus said. He stood up. "You have used me."_

 _"_ _Meaning?"_

 _"_ _I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Kept that boy safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter—"_

Hermione threw herself out of the memory, and clapped a hand over her mouth. She wasn't sure which part was worse, that Harry was a horcrux and Dumbledore intended him to die, or that Harry would probably follow through with the plan once he knew it. Because, like Severus, Dumbledore had shaped him into exactly what he needed to be.

* * *

A/N: Another reposting!


	14. Chapter 14: EDITED

THIRTEEN

"I think I'm going to be sick."

Severus rose and sat on the arm of her chair like she had done to his before. He took her wand from limp fingers and set it on the spindly little table, then put a glass of water in her hand. It was cool and heavy and grounding. She took a long drink.

"I didn't think—I didn't want to believe—"

"I didn't think he had it in him, either."

"He raised Harry for the slaughter!"

"Yes."

"All this time. After all we've been through—!"

"Yes."

"We _trusted_ him!"

"I know, Hermione."

"Why did you show me that? Why didn't you keep that one to yourself?"

Hermione was vaguely aware that she was bordering on hysterical. She had an absurd urge to run and find Ron, tell him what she'd just learned. He was in almost the same position she was, after all. The two of them had built their lives in the wizarding world around Harry and their friendship with him. He got them into trouble, he got them out of it, he led them on adventures. He was an idiot sometimes. He had a big heart.

"Sh."

She realized that she was crying. Severus had pulled her to him. He was holding her while she cried. She wove her hands into his robes, realizing just how voluminous they were, just how much thinner he'd gotten in just the few months that had passed since she'd last examined him.

"You haven't been eating," she choked out. "You're too thin, Severus."

He laughed, but it sounded broken.

"Did you love her?"

"What?"

"Did you love Lily?"

If he thought the change in subjects was strange, he didn't let her see it. He had been rubbing her back, one large, warm hand trailing up and down her spine, and it didn't falter.

"I could have. If there had been more time, I probably would have."

"More time?"

"I had an elaborate fantasy while we were still in school, after I'd pushed her away. We'd be in the same Order meeting and it would all fall into place. We'd be friends again and, naturally, we'd fall in love. She'd leave that wanker Potter, and that would be that."

"But she died?"

"No. She got married." She felt him sigh. "She had horrible taste, I suppose. It probably would never have come to pass."

"It's too bad she never knew. I would've liked to know, if it was me."

"It would've been great fun to see their faces. At my trial, when Dumbledore spoke for me, I couldn't see the crowd and there were never any photos published. Dumbledore tells me it was quite amusing to watch the gears turn."

"He probably had that drawn-out speech explaining it all just to watch them be shocked."

"It seemed long to me, but it all seemed long then."

"They kept you in Azkaban while they deliberated."

"Can you blame them?"

"I'd like to say so," she said, nestling further into his chest, burrowing into his robes. She half expected him to set her away from him and return to his chair since she'd stopped crying, but he didn't. He resettled his arms around her, holding her tighter.

"Are you alright?" he asked her after a while. She'd been getting sleepy, and she'd been wonderfully comfortable all wrapped up in him.

"I will be. I am."

"I wasn't supposed to show you any of that."

They drew away from each other, though he didn't stand up from her chair.

"Why did you?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he lifted his hand a caressed her cheek, looking down at her. He looked… Well, it was exactly the way she wanted him to look at her. She tipped her forehead forward, letting her head rest on his chest again. His hand slid from her cheek back into her hair, smoothing the curls. She looked up, wondering how uncomfortable he was balanced on the armrest, wondering if he'd be angry if she kissed that spot on the underside of his jaw just there. Then he tipped his chin down to look at her and she was lost in his eyes.

She started it. She kissed him. Just a gentle kiss, her mouth pressed against his.

He finished it, and there was nothing gentle about it. Their mouths were tangled, their hands under clothes and making fists in hair. They'd shifted, changed positions in the chair so that she was straddling his lap.

He pulled back, and she stared up at him, only just realizing that she had a hand against the skin of his back, snaked between the open buttons of his shirt and under the hem of his undershirt. His skin was warm, the scars beneath her hand familiar.

"This isn't allowed," he whispered.

"What do you want, written consent?"

He smirked and kissed her again. After a long moment, his hand left her breast to join its pair against her bum. She shoved his button-up off his shoulders and pulled the undershirt over his head, tossing it aside. His skin was soft but not smooth; it was ridged with scar tissue older than her own, faded and pale.

Hermione ran her hands over his shoulders, clutching to his back and pressing up to him. Warm, bare skin molded to warm, bare skin. It was heavenly.

He laughed and then moaned when she set to putting a mark on his neck. She kissed up his throat, across his jaw, found his lips again.

"No, no," he muttered, turning his face away, leaning back against the chair. She sat back, earning a groan from him when the movement shifted her core against his erection. "We can't. _Hermione_ , we can't."

The wind went out of her in a gust. She'd forgotten entirely. Who they were. What they were to each other. She let her head fall forward, her forehead resting against his collarbone near where she'd just left a bright hickey. His arms snaked around her, held her close.

It had been something he'd always been proud of, a promise he'd made to himself that had never been broken. And she'd thrown herself at him, ripped the promise away from him. Never a student.

" _Fuck_."

"Oh, I'd like to."

She laughed, sitting up. I was too difficult to think when all she'd been able to feel was the strong, flat plane of his chest against her nipples.

His hands trailed up and down her sides, then swept straight up her front, fingertips teasing the undersides of her breasts before he'd held them in his palms. He lifted her breasts, letting them fill his hands. His thumbs found her nipples, not teasing so much as just touching. There was a very male look of satisfaction on his face, sitting beneath her holding her breasts. She felt a very female sense of satisfaction rise within her to meet it.

" _Severus_ ," she moaned, and his hands jerked against her, his thumbs pressing hard against her nipples. She stifled a second moan, leaned into his touch, closed her eyes.

"Say it again," he whispered. She thought she might have imagined it, but when she opened her eyes he was looking at her so intently she knew she hadn't.

"Severus."

She snaked a hand up around the back of his neck, settled her fingers against those short hairs that hadn't made it into his bun.

"Tell me no," he said, voice rough.

"I will _never_ tell you no."

"I'm going to hell," he said, letting her pull him down for a deep kiss, his tongue tangling with hers.

* * *

A/N: Reposting!


	15. Chapter 15: EDITED

FOURTEEN

Hermione woke feeling fuzzy. She shuffled her way to the shower, then flinched when the water hit her shoulder.

It was a bite. A perfect outline of imperfect teeth on the round part of her shoulder. And she couldn't remember how— _who_ had put it there.

Hermione rushed through her ablutions, then cleared the fog off the mirror with a charm. She leaned close to get a better look. The bite hadn't been deep, but it had broken the skin. She felt like she probably should have been panicking, but she wasn't. There was a strange fondness in the pit of her stomach when she thought about the bite.

 _Who bit me? For god's sake, who bites people? What did I do last night? Was I Obliviated?_

Hermione dressed quickly, threw a sweater on beneath her school robe, and tied her hair back into a French braid while it was still wet. She headed for Severus's office. He'd be able to look through her mind and, hopefully, discover if she'd been Obliviated or attacked (or both).

"Granger," he said. He didn't have bed head. In fact, he looked perfectly put-together except for the fact that he was in shirtsleeves instead of robes. "It is not even seven."

"Can I come in? I need to talk to you."

He raised an eyebrow, but then stood aside to let her in. There was a door behind his desk that stood open, giving her a glimpse of what was surely his private sitting behind the office.

"Will you have a look into my mind? I think I was Obliviated last night."

He paused, his look calculating. "We removed the memory of… whatever happened," he said after drawing a deep breath. He gestured at his desk, and she noticed two identical glass jars, small and bulbous, with their stoppers held in place by crimson wax. "They were in the Room of Requirement."

The pieces fell together and she blushed, thinking of the bite mark on her shoulder.

"You bit me!"

"I beg your pardon?"

She jerked her robe and sweater down her arm, then unbuttoned the first few buttons on her shirt so that she could shove it all out of the way and show him the teeth marks on her shoulder.

"You _bit_ me."

His face was unreadable. Slowly, his hands undid the buttons on his waistcoat and then the shirt beneath; he pulled the collar of his undershirt down and over, stretching it out, and then she could see a livid love bite beneath the far edge of his collarbone.

"What the hell did we do?" she asked, more to herself than him. He looked incredibly guilty and released the hold on his shirt.

"Whatever it was, we tried to cover our tracks." He looked at the pair of jars on the desk. "And we wanted to be able to remember it eventually. We didn't just Obliviate ourselves entirely; we set the memories aside for later."

"So what do we do?" she asked after a long pause. She really liked the way he said 'we.'

Decisively, Severus picked up the jars and handed her hers, then cracked the wax off his and unstoppered it. Using the tip of his wand, he retrieved the silvery memory and placed it to his temple. He closed his eyes while it settled back into its place. She did the same with hers.

"I can't believe I bit you hard enough to leave a mark like that," he said, stepping close and pulling her shirt aside. His fingers traced over the circle of marks left from his teeth, then his wand. The mark was gone in a moment. He kissed the spot where it had been.

"I can't believe I forgot you had. "Then she corrected herself, ignoring his amused look: "I mean, I can't believe I didn't remember that it needed to be removed with the others."

He smirked, then held his shirt out of the way so that she could remove the mark she'd missed on him.

"Again, then?" she asked, gesturing at the vials.

"No," he said, standing up straighter. "No, our not remembering it doesn't change the fact that it happened."

"Right."

They stood awkwardly in the office for a moment, then Hermione went up on her toes to kiss his cheek before she left. She went down to breakfast and took so long eating a piece of toast that it had gone cold before she finished.

"Where's your bag?" Ron asked when they stood to leave for Herbology.

"Bloody hell," she muttered, then had to run up to the tower for everything she'd forgotten in her rush that morning.

\\\

She missed dinner. She went to the library after her last class and fell asleep over her books.

"Miss Granger, come here please," Madame Pince said when Hermione tried to leave. Hermione frowned, walking to the desk by the door. A lecture about sleeping in the library was the last thing she needed at the moment; she was already late to brew, which meant she'd be late to bed again.

"Madame Pince?"

"I shouldn't have let you sleep through dinner, but you've looked so very worn out these last few weeks." Madame Pince gestured for her to follow around the counter and into the little office behind it. "Sit here, dear. Are you alright?"

Hermione blinked. Madame Pince didn't call _anyone_ "dear." She watched even the Ravenclaws like a hawk. (Maybe especially the Ravenclaws.)

"I'm just tired, I suppose," Hermione said when her brain caught up with the fact that a response was necessary. "N.E.W.T. classes are quite a bit more involved than I'd expected, and I haven't been sleeping much lately."

"Sleep is important," Madame Pince said, crooking her finger at a tray on the side table. It floated to the obligingly, settling on the desk between them. She set out a light supper of sandwiches and tea. "As is food. Eat, girl." The librarian smiled. "I know you think you're doing yourself a favor, working ahead, but you will wind up hurting yourself in the end. I can't tell you how many bright students I've seen burn out when they try to take it all on."

Hermione wanted to laugh and cry at the same time; Madame Pince had no idea how close she'd come to the mark.

\\\

An hour later, already past ten, she'd made it to the Room of Requirement. She was in a much better mood.

"I'm late. I'm sorry."

"Pince told Minerva you were sleeping in the library. She was going to give you dinner and a talking to, I believe."

"I suppose she did."

"You look happy about it." He looked up at her from over the cauldron, withdrawing the stirring rod and setting it aside.

"It was surprisingly nice. She says I'm too bright to let myself burn out."

"Ah."

He extinguished the flame beneath the cauldron with a flick of his wrist, then walked around the table to stand in front of her. She looked up at him, happy, centered, serene.

"I think she put a Calming Draught in the tea," Hermione said, smiling.

Slowly— _so_ achingly slowly—he brought his hand up and put a stray curl behind her ear. She closed her eyes.

His hand stayed by her ear; she could feel the heat of it. Then the long fingers of his other hand were in her hair, cupping the back of her head. Her eyes flew open, but then fluttered closed again as she kissed him back, her hands weaving into the long folds of his robes. His hand found her breast, then moved down to her waist to settle on the round part of her ass and hold her to him.

She clung to him, sucking in air, when he pulled back. She sighed and released her hold on his robes, straightening them out meticulously. He stood still for her, his arms at his sides, watching. He was warm and broad. He had a remarkable aptitude for standing still and watching; it was disconcerting when the full force of that watchfulness was turned on her and her alone. (And she loved it.)

"Yes, she did," he said when she'd put him back to rights. She looked up at him and raised a questioning eyebrow. "I could taste it."

She smiled, and he pulled her to him again. He kissed her forehead and then buried his face in her hair. She could feel his breath on her neck.

"I've just finished your list for tonight."

"You didn't have to."

"I wanted to."

"Thank you."

He squeezed her tighter for a moment, then let her shift back from him so that they could look at each other.

"What now?" she asked his buttons, focused on that fifth button down that triggered the charm to undo all the buttons on his coat.

"If anybody finds out, it gets bad very fast."

"What do you think we should do? Anything?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"No." He smirked when she shot him a glare. "I've never done this."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't think I am."

She went up on her toes and captured his mouth with her own. He gave over to the kiss without a fight, pulling her to him. When they'd pulled apart, gasping for breath, he hoisted her up onto the table beside the cooling cauldron and opened her shirt so that he could kiss down the column of her neck and across her collar bones.

* * *

A/N: Reposting!


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: If you missed it, I did a bunch of swapping around this week. I majorly edited the last few chapters (all of which now have EDITED in their titles to make it easy for you to tell where the changes are). I still like the idea of the originals, but I don't think they were in the right place. Expect to see elements of what was in the story initially crop up later on, but I've gone back and taken a different approach.

Comments? Questions? Haiku?

* * *

FIFTEEN

A week later—a week of going through the motions, utterly preoccupied—they returned to the Room of Requirement. She didn't need Legilimency lessons, so they'd ended them. He'd gone to the Room on Monday to see if she would arrive anyway, but she didn't. He hadn't gone on Wednesday.

She was already brewing when Severus arrived on Thursday. She had changed out of her school uniform and, surprisingly, she was wearing his shirt. The one he'd Summoned for her at the end of the summer. He'd been at ends, not thinking straight; it would've been easy enough to transfigure what she was wearing to more appropriate brewing clothes, but he'd already had the boots and safety equipment.

It did odd things to his stomach to see her standing there in blue jeans and his shirt.

She had two cauldrons of Calming Draught going for the hospital wing and had already begun juicing the leeches for the next step. He'd intended to start on Blood Replenishing Potion for the Order, but instead found himself joining her at the prep table, measuring beetles into a mortar for crushing. Their elbows bumped as they worked.

"In a different world, you would make the perfect apprentice."

"I thought I was doing pretty well here and now."

He didn't think about it, he just reached out and stroked the hair back from her face. She looked over at him, eyes wide. He tried to smile, but he was too astounded by his own daring.

"Use the side of your knife and crush it," he said, looking down at her hands. He desperately needed the change of subject. She was trying to juice a shrivelfig.

"The books say—"

"The books suggest the best way for a beginner to do it. You I trust not to slice your fingers off."

"So how do I—?"

He shouldn't have done it, but he didn't hesitate. He set aside his mortar and pestle and took her hands in his, standing behind her. She was small. He should think that she was too small, too young, but it just didn't… she wasn't… he couldn't bring himself to think it.

Under their hands, the shrivelfig flattened in an instant, the juice needed for the potion spurting into the shallow saucer already holding the leech juice.

He stroked his fingers down her arms as she added chopped roots and the beetles from his mortar to the saucer. She leaned back into him, and he froze. She added the paste in the saucer to the cauldron and picked up the iron stirring rod as if she hadn't just stepped back into his erection.

His rational mind told him he should want to pull away, to focus on the potion. Anything. But she smelled of vanilla, and she'd taken the stirring rod out on the count. The potion would rest for an hour.

His hands found her waist, his thumbs ghosting along the bottom of her ribcage. Her hands joined his; her palms were warm against the back of his hands. She turned her head, exposing her neck. He kissed it, finding her pulse point and nipping, sucking. Her hair fell into the way and he smiled, pressed his nose to her neck to slide the curl out of the way.

Severus opened his mouth against the back of her neck, gasping. She'd moved his hands. Her breast was soft under his palm. Her pubic hair was curly as the hair on her head. She guided his hands, showing him how she liked it.

"Oh."

He wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't been so close.

She was _so_ wet. She was dripping. She was pliant. She was making the most wonderful panting gasps. She shuddered and pressed back into him more firmly, turning her face to his. He kissed her lips and pressed his thumb to her clitoris one last time before he leaned forward and slid his finger up and into her.

"Yes," she murmured against his lips, into the kiss.

* * *

They'd first kissed on 4 December, a Wednesday. They'd felt guilty about it, hidden the memory of it from themselves, but had it back in place by the next morning. He'd kissed everywhere from her collarbones up that night, his hands roaming, and she'd _wanted_ him. It had been wonderful, especially when the alternative was acknowledging that Harry needed to die.

She hadn't seen him on Friday, but they'd spent Saturday morning and Sunday afternoon in the Room of Requirement together without planning it. Whatever guilt he felt about touching a student seemed to be as easy for him to set aside as her own lack of experience was for her.

On Monday, she hadn't gone to the Room of Requirement for Legilimency. She didn't need it, and they didn't plan for her to teach Harry. Instead, she sat in the common room and worked ahead on her homework, wondering all the while if he had gone to the Room of Requirement and was angry with her. On Wednesday, she did go to the Room but he wasn't there; she'd lingered, hoping he'd arrive late, but he hadn't.

On Thursday, she hadn't held out much hope for him showing up to help with the brewing. It wasn't his job, and if he was trying to avoid her, avoid the taboo of what they were, she would deal with it. But he hadn't kept away; he'd helped her, given her brewing tips, and then he'd…

They were moving very fast. They'd first kissed on the fourth, and he'd made her explode on his fingers on the twelfth. It felt like they were stumbling blindly forward together, going through the motions of daytime life and responsibility only to…

On Friday, she went to his office after classes. She knocked, resisting the urge to straighten her cuffs or pat at her hair while she waited.

"Enter."

It was still the Head of Slytherin's office, in the dungeon close to the Slytherin common room. He still had potions ingredients on the shelves around the room. There were too many shelves for there to be any wall space for portraits, and she was thankful for it.

He looked up when he heard the lock click behind her, but he almost smiled when he saw it was her.

"Hello," she said. It was strange how she'd felt so out of place on the other side of the door, very young and very stupid, and yet when she was with him the insecurity vanished.

"Good afternoon," he said, teasingly formal. It made her smile, likely as he'd intended.

"Can I talk to you?"

"Do you want to sit?"

She nodded, sliding into the seat across the desk from him and picking at the hem of her skirt.

"What's wrong?"

"I want you to take me to bed."

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to start with that." She smoothed her skirt across her thighs, the words pouring out of her in a rush. "I'm a virgin; you know that, I know you know that. It's just—you make it very easy to forget that when we're together. I need a moment to be the novice. Because we're moving very fast—it's only been a week—and you've already, we've already… I'm not uncomfortable with how fast we're moving. I probably should be, but I'm not. I—I need to have this out between us. I need you to know, entirely for certain, that I want you to take me to bed, but I don't _know_ how to… We're just wrapped up in so much. There's classes and responsibilities, brewing, then this stupid idea that teaching Harry Legilimency might make a difference, and the Vow. And all I can think about is that I should be blushing, or at the very least sorting out my priorities, but what I want is…"

She ran out of steam just as abruptly as she'd started. Severus looked at her from the other side of the desk, face blank. She couldn't tell if she'd stunned him or if he was Occluding.

"You were right yesterday," she said, looking back down at her lap when all he'd done was blink at her in silence. "If the world was different, I could be your apprentice. I would've finished school as normal; I would've applied for an apprenticeship. I would've applied to you, even though you never take on apprentices. Maybe you would have accepted. And it's not so outlandish for masters and apprentices to…" She smoothed her skirt again and looked up at him. "We could've done it right, if the world was different."

"You're right. We're moving too fast," he said, but it sounded like he was choking on the words. She frowned at him.

"I didn't say we were moving too fast. I said we were moving fast. I said I don't know what I'm doing, and there's _so_ much going on, but all I can think about is that… I really don't mind that we're moving fast. I want to move fast."

She felt like they were running out of time, actually, but she didn't want to say it.

* * *

Severus paced his sitting room, thoughts jumbling over each other, disjointed and unhelpful. He tried to think of the best way forward, but his mind just kept circling back to the terrifyingly honest look on her face when she'd said she wanted him to take her to bed.

He'd even tried to give her an out, tried to say that they _were_ moving too fast. She hadn't wanted it. She'd been annoyed at him for putting it out there.

She was in the bath now. His bath. In his rooms. She'd needed to relax, and he'd needed to think, and… It was hard to think when she was in his bath. He'd run the water for her, fetched essence of lavender from his ingredients cupboard because the scent would soothe her. She'd left the door open a crack when he'd left.

One (slightly terrifying) thing had occurred to him the previous evening. He'd been lying in bed waiting for sleep to roll over him, trying not to think about the taste of her tongue or the feel of her convulsing around his fingers, and it had struck him. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He loved her. The to-the-core world-shattering sort of absolutely terrifying love.

He suspected that she loved him back. He'd seen it on her face. When the words had been pouring out of her in his office, it had been clear that she was just as overwhelmed by the intensity of it as he was.

Severus undid the buttons on his robes and tossed them over a chair, then did the same with his coat. When he joined her in the bathroom, he had his sleeves rolled up and his hair pulled back in a knot again.

He didn't own bubble bath. There were no bubbles to protect her modesty, but she didn't so much as twitch when he entered. The room smelled of the essence of lavender he'd added to the water for her. The essential oil cast glimmering swirls on the surface of the water, doing nothing to obscure her.

She was magnificent. Creamy skin, both slender and rounded, her impossible hair held out of the water by a thick braid against her head. She smiled at him when he sat next to the tub. Her nipples were dark and rosy, pebbled just beneath the surface of the water.

He stared at her face for awhile, looking down into her eyes. She looked back, expressionless. He had no idea what she was thinking.

The silence broke when she lifted a hand out of the water. His fingers found hers, twining together. Hers were warm, slippery, and had begun to prune.

"Do you plan to die?" she asked him, her eyes and her grip on his hand keeping him from flinching away from the question.

"What?"

"Do you plan to die, Severus?"

"I don't want to die."

"Alright, then."

"What—Why—?"

"I've scrubbed your blood out from under my fingernails before. Several times. And I've thought you might die under my hands, and—"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay then."

She let his hand go and stood up. The water cascaded down her, the lavender scent rising in the air around them. He would remember the vision of her in that moment until the day he died.

* * *

A/N: Moving forward into the new stuff now (obviously). Expect the next update sometime next week!


	17. Chapter 17

SIXTEEN

Hermione had always had ideas. Ideas like a basilisk using the pipes to get around the school, or jinxing the raw components of fireworks so that they would duplicate themselves when Vanished (and that one had led to Fred and George drawing her up a contract and keeping her on retainer so that if she had any more ideas they could pay her).

She woke in the wee hours of Saturday morning with two ideas. One was a beginning, and she fully planned to research the hell out of it. The other made her laugh so hard she woke Severus up.

"What is wrong with you?" he muttered, prodding at her shoulder and then pulling her sleepily into his arms, tucking her against his chest. "Go back to sleep."

"You tosser!" she said, taking care not to mind her elbows as she shifted in his arms. He groaned and leveled a bleary glare at her. "I said 'take me to bed,' and you tucked me in!"

"Neither of us have slept in _weeks_ ," he said. His sleep-addled brain seemed to think that if he could get enough of himself and the blankets wrapped around her, she might just fall back to sleep.

"Geroff, Severus." She pushed ineffectively at his shoulder. He'd fallen back to sleep.

Hermione relaxed back onto the mattress, overtaken by giggles. After barely a minute, it woke him up again.

"You're dead obnoxious in the mornings," he said, shifting so that he wasn't on top of her so much. He didn't loosen his hold on her, though. If she hadn't been so overtaken by the absurdity of it, she would've gladly melted back into his side and slept until breakfast.

"It's not morning yet," she told him, turning a bit so that her elbow wasn't stuck against his chest anymore. "It's barely one."

"Why the fuck're you—"

She kissed the underside of his chin because she could reach it, then smiled up at him when it stopped him talking. He was adorably mussed and disoriented.

"We went to bed at seven o'clock last night. We didn't even eat dinner." She felt the urge to laugh in the twitching of her diaphragm and clamped down on it, but she couldn't stop the grin. "I expected _deflowering_ and instead you loaned me another shirt, put on your pajamas, and we _literally_ went to bed."

"Hermione. It's one in the morning."

"Almost."

"Go back to sleep."

She tried to protest, but the warmth of him and the blankets he'd pulled around them really were quite nice.

"And don't say things like _'deflowering,'_ " he muttered.

She settled into his chest and drifted off again, still grinning.

\\\

The next time she woke, it was early morning. Severus was just returning to bed.

"Severus?"

"Just needed the loo," he said, sliding back into the still-warm place next to her. "Go back to sleep."

"I'm not tired anymore."

"You've stopped laughing like a mad hen, too."

"Did you just call me a _hen_?"

"A mad one."

She prodded him with a finger, aiming for his stomach but catching a bony hip instead. It seemed to amuse him.

"What was all that about, anyway?" he asked. He'd shifted them around so that he was the big spoon to her little spoon. His feet were freezing.

"I woke up in the middle of the night and realized you'd taken it literally. You'd literally taken me to bed. It was very funny."

"You were laughing so hard you woke me up." He sounded almost petulant. She couldn't tell if he was amused or annoyed.

"I was half asleep."

"I _was_ asleep."

"You tried to smother me in blankets."

"I did no such thing."

"You did. And you kept trying to roll over onto me."

"I thought you were _just_ complaining that I _wasn't_ on top of you in the bed."

"You know what I mean." She aimed another poke at him, but he intercepted her hand with his own and held it under her chin as they lay together. "I was hoping you'd _take me to bed_ , and instead we went to sleep."

"I haven't slept that well in months."

Hermione sighed, tipping her chin down so that she could kiss his hand. "Me neither."

The mood shifted. His hands smoothed his borrowed shirt along her body, finding the hem and teasing her thighs. She turned in his arms, fingers finding the gap between the flannel pajama pants and ratty old t-shirt he wore to bed.

He kissed her. It was all lips and tongues and hands for what felt like hours.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against her neck, dropping a wet kiss against her pulse point. "Whenever you want me to. Tell me to stop."

" _Don't_ stop," she moaned, writhing against him. They'd pulled off pajamas as they kissed, tossing them over the side of the bed. They were down to knickers and boxers, thin bits of fabric all that was between them.

He kissed down her neck, kicked the blankets away, and kept going. He stopped to pay brief tribute to her breasts, and then he slid his fingers beneath the elastic of her knickers and slide them down her legs. He paused there, crouched between her knees, looking up at her.

"Don't stop," she said, voice breathy. She half expected him to grin up at her, but he didn't. He looked intense, intent.

Severus put his hands on her knees, spreading her legs wide before tracing his hands up her thighs. She was self-conscious for a moment, wondering when the last time she'd shaved her legs was, but he didn't seem to notice (or care) and then his fingers had found her quim again and she didn't care a jot about the state of her thighs.

He had long fingers. Nimble. Maybe not practiced (not that she really had anything to compare), but he remembered the way she'd pressed his fingers into her the day before. She jumped when she felt his breath against the inside of her thigh. She could feel the smirk against her thigh, too.

"Hold still, Hermione," he instructed, his voice quiet and low.

"Se— _oh_."

Lips and fingers and tongue brought her to climax hard and fast. It was all she could do to remember not to clamp her legs around him.

And then he was hovering over her, propped up on his elbows. He kissed her, and she could taste something musky that must've been her own arousal on his tongue. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him close, and lifted her knees to either side of his hips.

"Are you sure?" he asked, though she could see the strain in everything but his face. The way his arms were shaking, the tension in his stomach.

"Don't stop," she said, looking him straight in the eye. She saw the moment his resolve cracked, the moment he set aside whatever hesitation he'd been harboring and decided to take her virginity. Or let her give him her virginity. Whichever it was. Both.

He pressed into her. He went slowly, and she knew it was for her benefit. She could feel herself stretching to accommodate him; it wasn't quite comfortable, but it didn't hurt either. It was just strange. Different. New.

She wasn't sure he was going to fit; there was too much. She gasped for breath, though it was half a whimper.

"Okay?" he asked, going completely still. She grabbed at his shoulders, her knees twitching at his hips. She wanted to—well; actually, she wasn't sure what she wanted to do. She just needed _more_. She nodded to give him his answer.

There was a sharp pinch and she cried out, as much in surprise as in pain, and then she had him to the hilt. He went still again, and she looked up into his face. He was looking down at her, concern and lust warring through his dark eyes.

After a few shaky breaths, Hermione lifted her head and kissed him. It broke whatever moment he'd been holding for her, and he began to move. He went slowly, shallowly at first and then pulling almost all the way out before he slid in deep. It wasn't long before the strangeness of the fullness faded into the pleasure of him.

"I'm going to—" he said, choking the words off as he buried his face in her hair and his cock in her quim one last time, hitting that spot that made every nerve come alive. The muscles of his shoulders and back danced under her hands as she held him through his orgasm.


	18. Chapter 18

SEVENTEEN

Severus ordered toast and tea from the house elves for breakfast, eaten in the lab while he brewed a contraceptive. She sat on a stool and handed him ingredients and knives as needed. They were mostly quiet, but they both smiled whenever they made eye contact. For some reason, it made her heart beat faster when she noticed he'd left her grubby summer trainers in the corner where she'd stashed them after he'd given her the dragonhide boots for brewing. Maybe he just hadn't brewed in the lab since, but she liked to think that he'd kept a little reminder of her in his space.

"Do you die in Dumbledore's grand plan?"

He looked up at her, one eyebrow arched high on his forehead. "Pardon?"

She repeated the question, shifting on the stool. She was just in the shirt he'd given her to sleep in, and the room was chilly for it, the stool cold under her bum. It had been warm enough before, but her thoughts had turned serious and she could feel the chill.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I thought of it. Don't dodge the question, Severus."

"I'm not—I wasn't—" He sighed and shot her an annoyed look as he tipped the small cauldron to pour its contents into a goblet. "I don't know if I die in his grand plan. I think my fate shifts by day. Each new piece of information I bring him changes my usefulness to both sides, and the likelihood that I'll make it through whatever end there is."

"I want—do you think…" She let it trail off, not sure what she'd been trying to say. She fidgeted with the last button on the shirt.

"You want our own plan," he said, stepping toward her and urging her knees apart so that he could stand between her thighs. Even seated on the high stool, she had to look up to see his face.

"I think so, yes."

"Would you like to hear my plan?"

"Of course."

He smirked and Summoned the goblet of warm contraceptive potion. He handed her the goblet and she drank it, noting that while it smelled of pine needles, it tasted bitter and a bit ammoniac. He took the goblet again when it was empty, and set it on the countertop behind him.

"I think Dumbledore will do what he thinks best serves the greater good, because that is what he has always done."

"And that is what we'll do?"

He leaned into her, unbuttoning the few buttons she'd done up on the shirt.

"You're avoiding the question," she said, but there wasn't much conviction behind it. He just smirked at her and Summoned a jar from the ingredients room; it had a twist top and was filled to the rim with virulently blue jelly.

"I made this during my mastery examination," he said, scooping a generous dollop out onto two fingers. "One of the most common creations in a Potions Master's kit, on the shelves of every apothecary, and in the cupboards of most witches. Sealed and kept in a cool place, it keeps for decades. Lucky for you."

She huffed a laugh, but then bit her lip when he spread her labia with one hand and applied the jelly with the other. It was immediately soothing, cooling. She hadn't been in pain, but she hadn't been quite comfortable, either. She'd felt chafed and exposed, but his fingers swept along her folds, brought a fresh dollop of blue jelly down to ease inside of her, and all the discomfort vanished.

"No one would believe me if I told them you could be sweet like this," she said, resisting the urge to giggle again when he gave her an affronted look.

"I'm not being _sweet_."

"It's very sweet."

"It's entirely self-serving, witch."

"Not entirely," she said, then smirked when he raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm sure I'm going to enjoy it, too."

His smirk was wicked the way hers never could be.

* * *

The entirety of Severus's sexual history was comprised of one-night stands with Muggle women. It was safer with Muggles, women who didn't—couldn't—know him.

Hermione did know him. She knew him very well. She wanted him anyway.

Also he was in love with her. That was new.

"Pomona," he said, stopping just inside the door when he saw her in his sitting room. He wished he'd changed out of his pajamas. She'd been his teacher, and though she'd been the first professor to speak to him as an adult (and the professor he'd had the most contact with throughout his career, considering she supplied 90 percent of the potions ingredients) he still found it very easy to feel like a student caught out of bounds.

"You missed dinner, you missed breakfast, you missed lunch. Are you ill? Have you been maimed? You seem to have all your limbs attached. You also seem to be wearing pajamas at two in the afternoon." She'd counted off all the meals he'd missed on her fingers and ended her little speech leaning against the door jamb between his office and sitting room looking distinctly amused. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Yes," he said, letting the sarcasm drip off his lips. "I just have so much time these days. I didn't know what to do with myself."

"Fine. Be as mysterious as you like." The amusement dropped and she stood up straight in the doorway. "Are you alright, Severus?"

"I'm fine, Pomona," he said. "I got ahead on my marking yesterday and slept in. I had an idea for a potion, and I've been brewing since."

"Pull the other one."

"What?"

"I just walked through your office, Severus Snape. You have a distinct system, and I remember it because you've yelled at me about it before. You haven't marked anything in _days_."

"You'd get mad at me if I told you I'd been brewing all night and jumped out of bed twenty minutes ago to try out another idea."

"I would get mad if you told me that. Because you would be lying to me, and I don't like it."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. His inclination was to tell her the truth; she was outside the Order, outside the war. She knew most of the players and where they stood, however. She was also an Occlumens, though her skills were… blunt—obvious but effective. (Not to mention, if anybody thought to look into her mind and question his actions, he could just tell them he had been putting on a show for her benefit.)

A quick bit of wandless magic and the shirt he'd loaned Hermione to sleep in was a robe long enough to hide her bare feet. Hermione jumped but caught on quickly, doing up the buttons, straightening the collar, and attempting to smooth out her hair.

"Hermione," he said. Hermione stepped into the room looking vaguely self-conscious but mostly curious.

"Professor," Hermione said. "Hello."

"This is the part where you tell me you were discussing your star student's essay to be submitted for publication," Pomona said, voice flat. Severus smirked at her.

"Hermione Granger does not write essays, she writes treatises. As you well know."

"Is he out of his _bludgering_ mind?" Pomona said, stepping into the sitting room and slamming the connecting door to his office behind her.

"Excuse me?"

"He's recruited students."

"Who—"

"Albus _Dumbledore_."

"Is she—?" Hermione began, but Severus cut her off.

"No. She is not."

"But—"

"I work for Albus Dumbledore. I know what he's like," Pomona said, throwing herself down onto the end of the sofa. " _This_ , however, is a new low."

Severus gave Hermione a look, warning her to keep quiet, and he could see her Occlumency fall into place to keep her face blank.

"Pomona…"

"No, I know—I get it. _You_ owe him. _He_ is the only reason you are anywhere but Azkaban." She crossed her arms and her legs, scowling up at him. "You have to do what he says."

"Yes," he answered simply, blandly. Pomona looked Hermione over critically.

"And what is your part in all this, Miss Granger?"

"I've been brewing the potions for the infirmary to free up his schedule, Professor," she said easily.

"In his private lab?"

"Better equipment," Severus said. Pomona still looked skeptical.

"You should let me hide you," she said. It was the third time she'd made the offer in as many years.

"Many have tried to hide. All have died."

"None of them who've tried to hide had my help."

"Igor Karkaroff—"

"Did not have my help."

"Pomona—"

"Tell him he should let me hide him," Pomona said, turning her full body to focus on Hermione.

 _Shite. She knows._

"I don't—" Hermione started, but Severus cut her off.

"I signed up for this," he said, holding out his left arm so that the Dark Mark was clear.

"You made a mistake when you were young," Pomona said. It had been her position since he'd returned to Hogwarts, even before the first fall of Voldemort had brought about his trial and made his spying public knowledge.

"It was still a choice." He put his arms behind his back to hide the way he gripped his left arm with his right hand, trying to cover up the Dark Mark. He didn't look at it directly when he could avoid it, and remembering it was there always made him want to button up his sleeves over it. In his pajama t-shirt, there were no cuffs to adjust.

"I could get you both out. It would be easier, even," Pomona offered. "He wouldn't be able to manipulate either of you anymore."

"Pomona—" he started, wondering what he could say to throw her off the scent. Probably nothing. And then she would go to Minerva...

"I'm not an idiot, Severus." It was said sharply, but she relaxed her posture on the couch. "I can spot a transfigured shirt."

"Professor—" Hermione tried, but Pomona cut her off as well.

"Honestly, it would've been better if you'd been able to wait two years so that you weren't his student." Then she smiled. "For propriety's sake, of course. Also, now I owe Septima ten sickles."

"You're joking," he said, sitting down in the armchair facing her. After a moment's hesitation, he took Hermione by the wrist and pulled her over to sit on the arm of his chair.

"No. I'm afraid we're rather cloistered."

"Pomona," he said sharply, taking Hermione's hand because he could feel her magic fluttering around her as she began to panic.

"You and I both know that the headmaster is likely already aware. He would not have let it get this far if he didn't… approve."

"It's another manipulation, then," Hermione said, her voice steady though her grip on his hand suggested otherwise. "Something to hold over your head. Or my head. Whichever he needs."

"Likely your head," Severus said, thinking out loud. "Pomona is right; the only reason I'm not in Azkaban is Dumbledore's good word. If he were to decide to retract, or even if he just decided to whisper in the right ear, I could be secreted away at any moment."

"So he's going to ask me to do something awful or he'll tell the _Prophet_ or the Board of Governors, in either case I'd end up expelled at best."

"My offer stands," Pomona said, smiling gently. "I could get you both out."

"Thank you, I'm sorry," Hermione said, standing up and beginning to pace. "It's not a viable alternative."

He wanted to smile about that—her sticking it out with him even when she had an easy escape out from under Dumbledore's thumb—but he schooled his expression.

"I do have to ask," Pomona said, her tone stilling Hermione's pacing. "How old are you, Miss Granger?"

"What?"

"I remember that you are a September birthday, which puts you at seventeen at least. So of legal age. I also remember you had a Time Turner. I am—"

"You're wondering what could have factored in to make my _intransigent_ moral compass bend so far out of—"

"Be quiet, Severus," Pomona snapped, her focus on Hermione.

"Nineteen? I'm not sure, exactly," Hermione said. He could read the suspicion on her face even if Pomona couldn't.

"You had a Time Turner for just one school year," Pomona said.

Hermione glanced at him, but he'd been curious about this himself. She'd admitted to him months ago that she'd used the Time Turner more than she should have, but even if she'd lived every single day of that school year twice it wouldn't have put her two full years ahead.

"You'll remember that at the time there were just rumors of his return. I thought it was just an exciting opportunity, unprecedented for somebody so young as I was. In retrospect, it was Dumbledore pulling the strings, hoping to have somebody close to Harry in the Department of Mysteries when the time came."

"An internship?"

"Yes. I was the only applicant with Time Turner experience. Also the only applicant without O.W.L. scores."

"If I thought tendering my resignation would change the way this school is run, I'd do it in a heartbeat," Pomona said. She was as angry as he'd ever seen her.

The tense silence that followed was broken when the fireplace flashed green and spat a letter out onto the rug.

"Speak of the headmaster," Pomona said, almost bitter. Severus raised an eyebrow at her and Summoned the letter to him.

"It's from the headmaster?" Hermione asked, taking a few steps closer to him but not coming close enough to actually see the words on the front of the envelope.

"He always sends internal memos through the Floo," Severus said, slitting the envelope with his wand for a letter opener. "It's a closed system that predates the Floo Network. The memos can't accidentally leave the castle."

She nodded, and he knew that she could've told him the exact dates the Hogwarts flues had been enchanted and who had been involved in the lawsuits that followed the creation of the Floo Network without any sort of nod to the Hogwarts system it had been based on. It made him smile, and he turned his face down to the letter in his hands to hide it.

"He's calling us to his office."

"Us?" Pomona asked.

"Hermione and me."

"He's going to make his play, then," Hermione said.

"That's likely."


	19. Chapter 19

EIGHTEEN

Hermione stepped back into Severus's bedroom, feeling naked. Professor Sprout was in the sitting room chatting candidly with Severus. It didn't seem to alarm him that she _knew_ , nor had it seemed to surprise her. And _Professor Vector_ had made a bet about it?

She was going to be kicked out for sure. No matter how useful she was, they'd broken _so_ many school rules it couldn't be overlooked. They'd kick her out, and she'd have to go into hiding with her parents or go off on her own to whatever sanctuary Professor Sprout had hinted at.

Hermione looked at the bed for a minute, trying to calm her thoughts. She should blush about the rumpled sheets, about her knickers sitting on the floor at the end of the bed, but she didn't. The analytical part of her brain had been observing, collecting information for later—the heat of him, the way it felt when his whole body had jerked on top of her, the surge of fluid inside her as he came. Most of her had been _feeling_ , though; not thinking. He'd been very gentle with her.

She wondered if she should feel different because she wasn't a virgin anymore. Maybe that would come later.

Professor Sprout seemed to think they'd been carrying on from the beginning of the school year. Hermione supposed their paths had crossed often enough since September, considering the Occlumency and Legilimency lessons, that somebody on the look out for it could think that they'd been having some sort of affair. Was it an affair? They were… What were they?

 _Really not the time_ , Hermione reminded herself.

She picked up her underwear and cast quick cleaning charm before putting them on. She lengthened her uniform skirt and made it darker. The white uniform shirt needed a cleaning charm, too, but then she left it as it was and didn't tuck it in. She transfigured the school robe into something close to a picture she'd seen in one of Parvati's magazines, ankle-length and a bland gray. (The one in the magazine had had some pretty embroidery at collar and cuffs, but she didn't have time for it.) The tights she'd been wearing—thick because it was cold in the castle—became plain hose. She conjured an elastic and jerked her curls back into a ponytail, then left the room.

"Well. It's no wonder Minerva goes on about you," Professor Sprout said when she returned to the sitting room. Hermione bit her lip. "Your transfiguration work is quite good."

"Thank you, Professor." Hermione sat in the armchair and smoothed her skirt across her thighs. "It's not too obvious? Or not obvious enough? I could put the pleats back into the skirt."

"Leave it," Professor Sprout said, sitting back into the sofa. Her expression wasn't so much calculating as reevaluating. "Perhaps a hint of the texture back in the tights. Just around the knees."

"The knees?" Hermione folded the skirt up so that she could see her knees, aiming her wand and adjusting her transfigurations work.

"When I was your age, my 'fashion adjustments' always broke down a bit at the knees and elbows." Hermione glanced up and Professor Sprout winked at her.

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said, finding herself grinning. She smoothed her skirt over her knees again, then pocketed her wand. She wasn't sure what to say next.

"I suppose you're wondering why I would put money on an illicit affair between the Head of Slytherin and next year's frontrunner for Head Girl."

"Yes, Professor. And why you aren't upset. Or are you upset?"

"You have to remember that student-teacher relationships weren't actually prohibited at Hogwarts until 1970… sometime in the mid '70s." 1974, Hermione knew. She'd looked it up over the summer, wanting to know just how many lines they were crossing when she'd stripped him down to his boxers (in a warded bedroom, no less), even if it was to tend his injuries. "But mostly, it's because I know Severus. Very well, I like to think. I would be upset if I thought you were here for better marks or something like that, but Severus would never do that sort of thing. And, by the by, you'd never need to."

Hermione smiled, but she felt a little sick.

"I knew when I saw he'd let you into that lab. Nobody but Severus has touched the equipment in that lab since it became his. Not even Dumbledore, to my knowledge." Professor Sprout looked quite tickled by that. "And then there you were, all kitted out like an apprentice. It was only a matter of time."

"That couldn't—"

"Oh, that's all it took to make me look," Professor Sprout said. "And then it was obvious enough. He watches you when he thinks nobody will notice him. Especially you; wouldn't want _you_ to know."

"Oh."

"Quite right." The professor continued to look strangely cheerful. "I put money on his snapping you up within a month of your graduation. Either as an apprentice or a lover, it was too soon to tell. Septima, of course, based her bet on some equation with variables and probably some factoring for the 'unknown.' Cheating, of course, but that's what you get when you gamble with an Arithmancy Mistress. It felt much too soon, it being only your sixth year, but it makes more sense knowing you overused that Time Turner."

"I see," Hermione said, then looked up to find Severus watching her from the doorway. He was buttoned up, his hair down. He had that intense look on his face again.

Professor Sprout noticed her distraction, but Severus had his face schooled by the time she'd turned to look at him. Hermione smirked at him.

"Have fun with the overlord," Professor Sprout said, standing up and grinning at them. "You should probably not mention that I was here."

"Thank you, Pomona," Severus said, sarcastic again. "And you shouldn't call him 'the overlord.' He _preens_."

Professor Sprout just smiled at him benignly as she left.

"We have kept him waiting too long already," Severus said, offering her a hand up off the couch.

"What do you think he's going to say?"

"I'm not entirely sure," he said. He didn't let go of her hand until they'd crossed the room to the fireplace and he reached up for the box of Floo Powder off the mantle. It was a little box with a mother-of-pearl lid. A pretty little thing that didn't look like something he'd choose; she wondered who had given it to him. He took a pinch of the powder, then looked down at her, thoughtful. "Strategically, sacking me or expelling you—or both—will not play well."

"But..." Hermione prompted. Her guts were churning with nerves.

"I suppose we'll find out."

Severus tossed the Floo Powder into the fire and stepped forward, sliding his hand around her waist to bring her along with him. He cleaned the soot off her with the same spell he fixed his own robes when they arrived.

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk in his equivalent of shirtsleeves. His robes were gray and bland; the colorful outer robes with metallic embroidery were folded over the back of his chair. He had a quill stuck in his beard.

"Severus. Miss Granger." He gestured to the chairs across the desk. Hermione sat, but Severus took up a place behind her, his hand on the back of her chair near her shoulder.

"Good afternoon, Headmaster," Hermione said.

"Auror-in-Charge Cooper contacted me this morning. Your grandparents are in London," the headmaster said without preamble. His eyes flicked across the words in front of him, usually twinkling eyes cold and serious.

"Oh," Hermione said, surprised. It wasn't what she'd expected him to say in the least.

"The Muggles have finished their investigation and are releasing the 'bodies' as we speak. Since they believe you to be a minor, they contacted your mother's parents." He signed his name with a flourish and folded the letter into an envelope. "Severus, are they likely to be targets?"

"I don't believe so, Headmaster," Severus said, his voice slow and thoughtful.

"Good. Now, Miss Granger, your grandparents have been in contact. They want you home tomorrow morning. They've arranged a funeral."

"They want me to leave school."

"That is my impression," the headmaster said, looking her over with a calculating eye.

"While two Muggles—even if they are grandparents of somebody close to Potter—aren't likely to be noticed by the Dark Lord, if Hermione were to leave the school… It would be noticed. _She_ would be a target, Headmaster."

"Minerva will go with her, as her Head of House. I will take over her courses for the week." He pulled another piece of parchment to him and wrote out a quick note. He stood, knees popping, and crossed quickly to the fireplace.

"My grandparents aren't going to understand why the school would send somebody, Headmaster."

"While you are legally of age, you are still a student. As such, the Statute of Secrecy allows for a family member or guardian to be made aware."

 _That will be a disaster_ , Hermione thought, already imagining trying to get her grandparents to believe she wasn't insane. Even if Professor McGonagall transfigured the kitchen table into a bull and back, they were more likely to assume it was some sort of shared delusion than actual magic. They were practical like that.

"Where will they stay, sir? Not Grimmauld Place."

"No, not Grimmauld Place," the headmaster said. He'd returned to his desk and was moving papers around again. "They plan to stay at your parents' house."

"That's better than a hotel, I suppose," Hermione said, and the headmaster nodded.

"Miss Granger, they cannot know that your parents aren't dead."

\\\

Grandad Puckle had barely closed the door behind them when Grandma pounced.

" _Why_ didn't you tell us?" She looked awful. Hermione had inherited her curls straight from her grandmother, and they were currently a frizzed mess of a bun. She'd obviously been crying. "The coroner called us on Thursday. They've been dead for _months_. You best start talking, Hermione Granger, or—"

Whatever the "or else" would have been was cut off when the bay window on the front wall of the house was torn away in a wrenching of wood and wiring. Grandma screamed. Grandad grabbed for them, managing to get Grandma around the waist and drag her into the kitchen.

Hermione had her wand in her hand before she even realized what had happened.

A bolt of blue shot past her and exploded the telly. Something sharp—shards of the plastic casing, some part of her brain registered—hit her, a few slicing past her face and torso while one imbedded itself high on her thigh. She noticed it but didn't feel it.

Grandma was screaming in the kitchen. Grandad was shouting into the phone, calling the Muggle police.

"Get _down_ ," Professor McGonagall hissed, but it was too late. A spiral of green-brown light caught her in the stomach and threw her against the hall wall. Her vision blurred and her ears started ringing.

She couldn't breathe, and for a panicked moment Hermione was sure they'd Vanished her lungs or cursed her stomach so that acid was on the outside. Then she got one breath in, and another. The crash into the wall had knocked the wind out of her.

Professor McGonagall stood in the gap wearing her Muggle skirt suit, the tails of her long winter trench coat flapping as she moved. She had her wand up and was maintaining a Shield Charm so powerful Hermione could see it vibrating in the air between her and the Death Eaters.

There were at least six of them, probably more. All masked, all throwing curses at the house.

Hermione shoved herself to her feet and lurched her way to the gaping hole where the front door had been torn off its hinges.


	20. Chapter 20

NINETEEN

"I don't think you'll need St. Mungo's," Professor McGonagall said, refilling the teacups (this time just with tea, not with the stuff that had been laced with Calming Draught). "But if you want to be checked by a proper Healer, I will take you as soon as you're ready."

"I feel okay," Hermione said, then realized that wasn't quite the truth. "I'll be alright."

She was too tired to blush for Professor McGonagall's benefit, though she should. Severus was crouched next to her attending to the curse marks across her abdomen. He'd had to cut her shirt to bits to get it off her without making things worse with the plastic from the telly that had ended up in her. She was sitting at the kitchen table in her bra, Severus still working on her, Professor McGonagall pouring out tea, her grandparents across the table looking a bit drugged from the Calming Draught.

"If you're sure," Professor McGonagall said, directing her look at Severus this time.

"She's lucky not to have a concussion," Severus said, his focus on his hands while he answered. "I also pulled four pieces of plastic out of her side, the smallest of which was the size of my thumb. The curse that caused _this_ mark—" He indicated the raised brown-green skin across her lower abdomen that he was working on. "—was easy enough to lift, but it will take a week's worth of potions and salve to correct the damage. There was also damage to her eardrums, and a worrying sensitivity to heat that I can't pin down. She should be at St. Mungo's."

"I can't go to St. Mungo's if we're going to pretend I wasn't at the house," Hermione said. "Sir."

Severus glared at her—she wasn't sure if it was because she'd called him "sir" (though it would have raised Professor McGonagall's suspicions if she hadn't) or because she'd disagreed with him. Instead of responding verbally, he made a small incision in the curse mark with his wand, holding a vial up to the wound. Something clear oozed out of the incision, pus-like and viscous. It felt like something very hot was touching her skin at the incision, and she called up her Occlumency shields to keep from reacting.

Grandma whimpered, putting a hand to her mouth to muffle the sound. Everybody looked at her, but any questions or comfort was set aside when Mrs. Black's portrait started shouting again. The miserable painting was out of its head about Muggles in the house.

Hermione stared off toward the hall, but she wasn't really hearing the painting's shouts. She could still hear Grandma's screaming from the house. It rang in her ears, drowning out the high-pitch ringing from the blast that had put shards of the family television in her side.

It was only when Professor McGonagall returned to the kitchen that Hermione realized her Head of House had left the room. The portrait was quiet.

"I believe explanations are in order," Grandad said. Hermione looked at him, surprised at the utter reasonability in his tone. He sounded like he was waiting for her rationalization for joining the circus. He knew what was coming was going to be utterly absurd, but he was willing to hear it out before he told her so.

After a nod from Professor McGonagall, she started with Hogwarts. She told them about Professor McGonagall's visit the summer after she turned eleven, the castle in Scotland, the classes she took. Then she told them about the Statute of Secrecy, about witch burning, and tried to make them understand why she and her parents had kept something so huge a secret. She would've preferred to tell them about her friends, or introduce them to the portrait of the empty-headed blonde girl hung in the upstairs hall; instead, they asked about the attack, so she told them about the war.

"Are your parents alive?" Grandad asked, interrupting. She'd been trying to tell them about Harry without blaming him for her involvement.

"Yes," she said, and something unclenched in her to be able to say it out loud. Severus put his hand on her knee, squeezing gently. The gesture was entirely hidden by the table.

Her grandfather burst into tears. Grandma wrapped her arms around his nearer arm and pressed her forehead to his shoulder.

"If all had gone to plan, the Muggle authorities would not have known to tell you," Professor McGonagall said.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said.

They sat at the table and had an awkward family cry. Her grandparents clung together, weeping their relief. Hermione sat watching them, wiping at her own tears, trying not to notice that they weren't looking at her.

"I knew it couldn't be true," Grandma whispered, mostly to herself. Grandad nodded, holding very still. "I didn't _feel_ it. They say you feel it when… if your…"

Hermione sniffled, and wanted to kick herself for sniveling. It didn't make anything better. She was just feeling sorry for herself.

"What happens now?" It was Grandma whose practicality won out first. She picked up her tea and took a sip, looking across the table.

Professor McGonagall took over the talking for a bit, reinforcing what Hermione had already told them about the war. She explained about the safe house, and that "allies" were already working to cover their tracks and arrange their disappearance.

Hermione looked down at Severus while her Head of House spoke. He had finished collecting whatever it was that had come out of the curse mark, and the mark itself had faded and lost most of the brown tinge. She felt alright, actually. (He'd had her drink a Numbing Solution, which was probably part of that.) She expected a few new scars out of the experience.

As she watched, Severus went very still. His left hand clenched on her thigh, just for a moment, and then he stood.

"A Bruise Paste will do for now on that curse mark," he said, quietly enough not to interrupt Professor McGonagall and her grandparents. "Go to my office as soon as you return to the castle and I will have the potions you need."

Hermione nodded, not sure what to say to him. He was being Summoned, and it was clear from his non-reaction that he hadn't been expecting it. It terrified her.

And then he was gone. Professor McGonagall looked after him for just a moment, concerned, but then she returned to the task at hand. Hermione conjured herself a button-up and tried not to let Professor McGonagall see how uncomfortable it was to move her arms around to put the shirt on.

Not quite an hour later, they were at the safe house. It seemed a bit cheerier than before, mostly because everything was blanketed in snow. Inside it was the same as before, narrow but cozy. She could see touches of her parents in the rooms they passed through—a tower of books next to a chair in the front room just like her dad had kept at home; little glass charms on strings in one of the windows, a craft habit of her mum's.

"Hermione," Mum said, appearing at the end of the hall. She was in jeans a one of Dad's flannel shirts, carrying a book and tea. Hermione smiled and took the three quick steps to the end of the hall to wrap her arms around her mother. The hand that wasn't holding the tea dropped the book to squeeze her back.

* * *

"And the reason for access?"

"As her Head of House, I am acting as guardian while settling affairs with the Muggles."

Catriona filled the last blank in on the form and it whipped away. Minerva turned to the "in" box, but no file appeared.

"Is something wrong?" Minerva asked, raising her eyebrows. Catriona was a relic from Minerva's own days at the Ministry, however, and professorial disapproval didn't sway her.

"That _is_ strange. Has the student ever had any interaction with the Unspeakables? That could explain the lag if—Ah. Here we are." Catriona beamed at the wizard—something Colby, if she recalled correctly; Hufflepuff, much too clever for his own good—who stepped into the office with the file they'd been waiting for.

"A personal delivery, Mr. Colby," Minerva said, and this time the professorial tone had its desired effect. Colby's eyes slid to the side and he held out the file.

"Sorry, Professor. It's standard procedure when somebody's worked in the Department; the file is classified."

Minerva took the folder and flipped it open, seeing that, indeed, large sections of information were missing. Or rather, they were there but her eyes couldn't focus on them.

"That's impossible," she said. "Miss Granger hasn't even sat her N.E.W.T.s yet. She can't have worked for the Department of Mysteries."

"She had an internship," Colby said, a sort of nasal whine to his tone that hinted at withheld information.

"Yes, it says so here. No details whatsoever. No duration."

Colby cleared his throat, stared over her shoulder, and didn't respond.

"May I take this?" Minerva asked. It would take the headmaster twenty minutes to sort out the charms obscuring the information.

"No, ma'am," Colby said, and just like that the file was back in his hands. He tucked it under his arm, still not quite meeting her eyes. "It's classified. It can't leave my sight."

"I need to know how old Miss Granger is. Precisely."

"You'll have to ask her then, ma'am."

"I'm sure she won't be able to tell me," Minerva said sharply. "If that much of her file has been blotted out, you'll have placed a block on her memory until such a time as she signs a contract with the department."

"That is the standard procedure, yes."

"However…" Minerva prompted.

"However nothing, Professor," Colby said, blushing.

"Fine," Minerva said, making sure her hat was straight. "Thank you, Catriona."

"Always a pleasure, Minerva."

"Colby."

"Good evening, Professor."

Minerva left the Ministry with more questions than she'd arrived with. Just _what_ had they had Hermione Granger doing in the Department of Mysteries all those years ago? It was supposed to have been a month-long internship, and she'd been an exception. They'd only accepted her because she'd had experience with a Time Turner and Minerva herself might have smudged a few responses so that it looked like Granger had already taken her O.W.L.s. She'd deserved that internship, and obviously she'd done well.

The question—the primary riddle that had brought her to the Records Office in the first place—remained. Where had the girl learned all that? And when? And _how_?

Colby had been a sixth year when Granger was a second year, the year the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. _Samuel_ Colby; that was his name. Sam Colby's parents had pulled him out before Christmas that year and he'd taken his N.E.W.T.s independently; Minerva had written a letter of recommendation for him when he'd applied for the Department of Mysteries a few scant years ago, and yet the man she'd talked to had been at least thirty.

There was more time manipulation going on at the Department of Mysteries than the public was aware of. And Hermione Granger was involved, or had been. And she knew things that she didn't know she knew. Or did she know what she knew?

What a convoluted train of thought.

Just a few hours ago, Granger had been thrown into a wall so hard that Minerva had been sure the girl would break. Seconds later, Granger had walked out the front door, wand flashing. It had been minutes—maybe three minutes—from the time that Granger stepped into the doorway to the time Kingsley and Daisy Ken arrived. Granger had held her own. The Death Eaters had lost their uniform attack—perhaps surprised what the schoolgirl had waiting on her wandtip, or perhaps unaccustomed to intended victims taking the offensive instead of the defensive position—even before the Aurors arrived. (The moment Kingsley's baritone rang across the street, announcing Ministry presence, the Death Eaters had scattered.)

Granger had been throwing curses Minerva had never heard of. She'd held a wandless Shield Charm around herself while she attacked the Death Eaters.

And then it had been over. Minerva had cleared Granger and her grandparents out before any more Aurors arrived, getting them to Severus at Grimmauld Place, and then gone back to make her official statements.

Granger had been remarkably unflinching under Severus's touch. Minerva had made a mental note to ask Albus if he'd had her learn Occlumency; the only person that unflappable while being treated for curse damage was Severus Snape when he was Occluding.

Something was Not Right.

\\\

"Are you sure you're alright, Miss Granger?" Minerva asked. Granger had been with Dumbledore, talking, while Minerva was at the Ministry.

"I think a shower and sleep will do wonders, Professor." Granger smirked, channeling Severus again. "Especially if I get that shower in before the Numbing Solution wears off."

Minerva chuckled. "Will you be going to the Burrow over Christmas again?"

"I'll be staying at the castle. There are a few things Professor Dumbledore wants me to do over the break."

Minerva nodded and tried not to frown. Albus hadn't told her about anything he wanted Miss Granger to do over the break.

* * *

A/N: Sorry about the wait! I got halfway through it, deleted it, rewrote it, split it into two chapters, deleted one of them, tied in a new side-plot, took it out again, and now I've finally polished it up enough to be post-able. So yeah.


	21. Chapter 21

TWENTY

Hermione leaned back and let herself float in the overlarge tub. She'd filled it with near-scalding water and the vanilla suds she liked best. Her legs and back had finally begun to loosen up after the cramping that had crept up on her while she'd visited with her family. The bath was too hot. It was too hot, she hurt everywhere, and it was a battle to get her hair clean. Whenever she moved too quickly, the room spun. (She'd opted to take a bath rather than a shower for just that reason; she didn't want to fall over, and the tubs were spelled to keep her from drowning.) When she finally finished, she sat on the edge of the pool-tub and dripped while she watched the water drain away, working up the muster to get a towel and dry off.

The door opened, and she made a grab for her wand, but it was just Severus.

"This is the Prefect's bath, you know," she said, hearing the exhaustion in her own voice. "Somebody is going to notice. Aren't there wards that tell the headmaster or somebody if a teacher goes into a student bathroom?"

"Head of House privilege," he said, but the words came out in a grunt.

"You look like shit. You look worse that _I_ look," she said, hissing a bit as she stood up. Severus picked up a towel and held it out for her.

"Thanks."

"Are you hurt?"

"I will live."

"That's not what I asked."

"How long were you sitting there?" he asked, toweling her off. She didn't fight him for the task; her arms felt too heavy for it.

"A couple minutes. Not long."

"You're cold. The water on you is cold."

"I'm _not_ cold," she said, chuffing a laugh. "That water was scalding hot. I can still feel it in my hair."

Severus reached up with the towel, rubbing at the water in her hair and then smoothing tangles with his fingers.

"The water is cold, Hermione."

"So what does that mean?" She'd just remembered that he'd told Professor McGonagall she had a concerning sensitivity to heat earlier.

"I'm not sure yet."

"Fine, then. Why don't you tell me what's wrong with _you_ instead." He raised an eyebrow, so she raised an eyebrow back. "You still haven't answered my initial question."

"There will be aftershocks," he said at last. She frowned.

"How soon?"

"I don't know."

"And you were just going to stand here and, what, dry my hair? You should be in bed. You should be in the hospital wing."

"None of that will help."

"Well you can't fall over if you're already in bed," she said, and she would've jabbed her finger into his chest if her arms weren't so tired. If all over her wasn't so tired. And slow. Her body was reacting very slowly.

"Are you alright?" he asked, and she blinked. He had his hands on her shoulders, steadying her.

"I'm fine. It's the Numbing Solution wearing off. I'm groggy. It will pass."

He frowned at her but didn't argue. Instead, he started handing her pieces of clothing, helping her dress when she needed it. It would've been embarrassing if she wasn't so tired, if her eyes weren't so heavy, if it wasn't _Severus_ gently helping her with the tie on her flannel pajama pants.

"You should be in bed," she repeated.

"Fine. Let's go to bed."

The halls were empty and dark. She hadn't realized it was so late.

His quarters were overly warm, which was disconcerting because the fire had died down to glowing embers in the grate. A moment's unease stung at the back of her mind, but she was quickly distracted when Severus collapsed to one knee and then the floor.

The first aftershock passed quickly. Or maybe it wasn't quick; she really had no reference for how long it lasted. She put her hands around one of his, clenched into a tight fist, and held on through it. She remembered, at least, not to try magic to help him.

"You didn't do anything," she said when he began to unclench as the aftershock passed. "Why would they torture you?"

"The Dark Lord did not like that he received word of your leaving school via owl from Draco Malfoy when I had the information sooner, not to mention quicker means of communication."

"That's horrid."

He laughed. It was a dry, humorless noise.

"Narcissa believes I let Draco share the news because I know he needs to gain favor," he said, getting to his feet and heading for his bedroom. "The Dark Lord believes I truly did not deem you interesting or important enough to pay attention to, though he has impressed upon me the wrongness of that opinion."

Hermione kissed his cheek because she didn't know what to say. It almost looked like he blushed, but it was hard to tell in the dim light of the bedroom.

They were quiet while he dressed for bed. She expected him to send her away, but instead he hung her dressing gown on the same hook as his and drew her into bed.

"We're not going to—" she began, but he shook his head.

"There are more aftershocks to come, and you are recovering from your own injuries," he said. "And I doubt you are in the mood any more than I am."

"Right."

He shifted them around until she was lying half on his chest, her head tucked against his neck. He had situated them perfectly so that they were nestled together without his arms around her. If—when—his muscles began seizing up again, he wouldn't hurt her.

"Sleep, Hermione," he said quietly, stroking her hair once before he put his hand safely on the mattress next to her hip again.

* * *

According to his pocket watch (long ago spelled so that he could see the time whenever he looked at it, even in the dark), it was just past three in the morning when he woke. Since it had been after midnight when the aftershocks had finally subsided and he'd fallen asleep, it took him a moment to realize why he'd woken at all.

She wasn't moving. She was barely breathing.

"Hermione," he said, shaking her. " _Wake up_."

He tried to revive her with spells, then started casting diagnostics. As far as he could tell, there was nothing physically wrong with her; she was just asleep. Dreaming.

The last day's worth of signs flew to mind. Her sensitivity to heat. Her grogginess, sluggishness. She'd lost bits of time, he was sure of it—she'd lapsed into quiet so many times with her grandparents that it couldn't have been emotion, it had to have been trauma.

"Poppy," he said, mostly to himself, then ran for the Floo in the sitting room. "Poppy!"

"Severus?" The mediwitch asked, appearing in front of the grate in her nightgown.

"Come through. Bring your kit," he said, withdrawing. Less than a minute later, Poppy was in his sitting room, dressing gown loose on her shoulders, Healer's kit in her hands.

"What's going on? Are you hurt?"

"She won't wake up."

"Who?" Poppy froze when they reached his bedroom and saw who was in his bed. "A _student_. Severus _why_ is there a student in your bed?"

"There's something wrong," he said, shaking Hermione again. "I can't tell what's wrong. I can't _find_ anything wrong. But she won't wake up."

"What did you do?"

" _Nothing_. We went to sleep, and I woke up because she wasn't _moving_."

" _How long has this been going on, Severus_?" Poppy asked, spinning to pin him with a look after she'd cast a few of her own diagnostics, confirming what he'd seen before—there was nothing wrong with her.

"She was fine when we fell asleep," he said, deliberately misinterpreting the question.

Poppy spun around and slapped him across the face. In the space of a breath, he had her wand in his hand with the tip pressed to the soft flesh on the underside of her jaw.

"You are despicable," she said, jaw clenched. She didn't look afraid, which was interesting. She did look mad, though. Furious.


	22. Chapter 22

TWENTY-ONE

 _"_ _And this is our Records Office," Mr. Lennox said. "It's identical to the Records Office upstairs, but our files are in it, too. Obviously. So it's much more complete."_

 _"_ _Mr. Lennox! Come quick, sir!"_

 _"_ _Paul, will you finish the tour?" Mr. Lennox said, talking to the man with square spectacles sitting behind the front desk._

 _"_ _Of course, sir, Mr. Lennox."_

 _And then Mr. Lennox was gone, and she was left with Paul._

 _"_ _You must be the new girl," Paul said, holding out his hand. "Paul Harris."_

 _"_ _Hermione Granger."_

 _"_ _Well, Granger, welcome to the Department of Mysteries. This is the Records Office."_

 _"_ _Yes, sir," she said, looking down the hall behind him at the stacks and stacks of information in boxes and files._

 _"_ _You don't have to call me 'sir,'" he said, laughing. "We call Mr. Lennox 'sir' since he's the Head of the Department, but otherwise we're all about research here. We have project leads and all that, chain of command just like any other Department, we just choose to ignore it most of the time."_

 _"_ _Right. Er. Harris."_

 _"_ _There you got it," he said, smiling. He buffed his glasses on his shirt as he stood up. "The rest of the tour. It's all alphabetical down these rows. What doesn't fit in the stacks is indexed where it should be and the cards have the location on them. I can help you start to navigate that bit once we have a project for you._

 _"_ _Let's see. Here's your desk. Giovanni's the next one over. He's in Paris for the next few weeks, so you'll be settled in by the time you see him next. Then there's Pria down the hall and Maurice across from her. It's just us four—five now, with you."_

 _And they had been five. She'd almost immediately been up to her eyeballs in files and research, and it had been wonderful. They hadn't realized the intern that had been forgotten on her tour of the Department had ended up with a desk until several weeks had passed, and by then she'd had her own projects and been assigned as research assistant for more than a few Unspeakables. She'd had her own Time Turner._

Hermione sat up. She finally felt normal—not hot, not groggy, not sluggish—and her head had stopped swimming.

" _What_ is going on?" she said when her eyes finally focused on the room. Severus had Madam Pomfrey at wandpoint at the end of the bed. She had a dressing gown tied loosely around her, and he was in his pajama bottoms. Even without the wand, she could feel the tension radiating off them, the little flickers of raw magic snapping off Severus.

"Hermione," Severus said, relieved, but he didn't loosen his grip on Madam Pomfrey. Hermione Summoned the wand to her, and he didn't put up a fight. He looked a little embarrassed, actually.

"Maybe let her go?" she suggested, putting the wand on the bedside table next to hers and Severus's. Severus dropped his hand from Madam Pomfrey's shoulder like he'd been burned. Madam Pomfrey looked confused.

"I was almost sure you'd been hit with something I missed," he said, and for one horrible moment she thought he might cry. Then his expression went blank as he called up his Occlumency shields to block the emotions. Her heart clenched like it hadn't before, seeing him so emotional over what had felt like a dream.

"I'm okay, Severus." She wanted to reach for him, but she didn't think he'd let her with Madam Pomfrey watching. "It was a memory block from the Department of Mysteries. I hit my head hard enough that the spell shattered."

"That's not possible," Madam Pomfrey said, taking a few steps over and picking up her wand. In moments, she had colorful runes floating around Hermione and a critical look on her face.

"It isn't uncommon for physical trauma to disrupt spellwork. It's usually the easiest way to break curses, though it does lead to the cursed object or person being damaged. Hence curse-breakers are rather highly-paid," Hermione said. It was more-or-less straight out of a reading assignment Severus had set them at the beginning of the year.

"And you are likely 'damaged,'" Madam Pomfrey said, double-checking one of the runes near Hermione's left ear.

"I feel fine."

"You have a concussion."

"Here," Severus said, handing her a little vial. Madam Pomfrey shot him a look, but he just raised an eyebrow. "For the concussion."

"You don't know—" Madam Pomfrey said, but Hermione had already downed the potion. Madam Pomfrey blew air out her nose, frowning at them both. "You don't know how that potion might react with the spell. Or any other curse—you said something you _missed_. What did you find? What did you _do_ , Severus Snape?"

"I—" he started, but Hermione cut him off.

"He didn't _do_ anything," she snapped.

"I apologize, Miss Granger, but you are a student in a teacher's bed," Madam Pomfrey snapped. She turned a glare on Severus.

"I—" Hermione started, but Madam Pomfrey spun on her heel and left the room.

"Are you alright?" Severus asked. His Occlumency slipped away, showing her the tired man behind the façade.

"I feel fine. I'm _fine_." He put his hands up around her waist and helped her off the bed. She'd been standing on the mattress through the entire conversation, which probably hadn't improved Madam Pomfrey's impression of the situation.

"I woke up, and you were still as death," he whispered.

"Severus," she said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He was shaking.

She realized two things simultaneously: first, he was in love with her; second, she loved him just as deeply. It was as terrifying as it was exhilarating.

"I am nineteen years, one month, and two days old," she said, holding his eyes with her own. "I had an internship at the Department of Mysteries, and they didn't realize I was an intern for much longer than they should've. I had my own desk. I did research. I overused a Time Turner. When they finally caught on, they gave me the standard memory block until such a time as I signed a proper contract."

"The concussion knocked the block loose, and your Occlumency shields prevented it from putting itself to rights."

"If you say so."

He kissed her, and she could feel his relief. He'd believed she was dying.

 _Who knew this man was so utterly sweet underneath all the sarcasm and buttons?_

"Enough," Headmaster Dumbledore said, and Severus's arms clenched around her as he turned, putting himself between her and the doorway where Dumbledore stood.

"Headmaster," Severus started, voice low, but the headmaster held up a hand and turned to speak to Madam Pomfrey.

"You should have gone to Minerva with this first, as she is Miss Granger's Head of House as well as my deputy; however, I am glad you did not. She would not be happy with me unless I sacked Severus, and I will not be doing that."

"Headmaster!" Madam Pomfrey cried out in protest, and in a few flicks of his wand the headmaster had Stunned her and pillowed her landing with an enormous cushion.

"Albus?" Severus asked, his grip on Hermione's arm tight as he continued to keep himself between her and the wizard in the doorway.

"I do not have words, Severus," Dumbledore said, no sign of the kindly grandfather in his manner. He held his wand in his diseased hand, his brilliantly purple dressing gown flapping loosely around him. He'd braided his hair and beard for bed. It was odd that a vision that could've been so comical was menacing.

"Albus…"

"I have asked much of you over the years," the headmaster said quietly. "Too much. And yet you have risen to each challenge. And we are _so close_ , Severus. _What_ are you doing?"

"She—I—" Severus straightened his shoulders, his hand clenched around her arm so tightly it hurt. "She makes me better, Headmaster."

"She is a student in your charge."

"She is more than that."

"She is barely of age."

"She is _right_ here," Hermione cut in, putting one of her hands on top of the one Severus had on her arm. He relaxed his grip, looking at her when she stepped to the side so that she could see Dumbledore more clearly. "And I _am_ past the age of consent, and I _do_ consent. Shame on you for thinking it would matter that I am his student; you know him better than that. Better than anybody else could. Severus Snape would _not_ take advantage."

"Miss Granger…"

"No," Hermione snapped, a little shock of electricity flicking through her hair, frizzing it. "Fuck you, Albus Dumbledore. You know _exactly_ what sort of a man he is, and you come down here saying you 'don't have words'? _I_ don't have words. _I_ don't have a thing to say to you about your treatment of this _good_ man."

"I—" the headmaster said, drawing himself up to his full height, crossing his arms in front of him and looking at her sternly over the tops of his half-moon spectacles.

"You aren't going to sack him because you _need_ him. And you aren't going to expel me because you need _me_ ," Hermione said. "So just _go_ , Headmaster."

"Miss Granger—"

"GET OUT!"

He left.


	23. Chapter 23

TWENTY-TWO

"What did you do?" Severus said, sitting down in one of the armchairs when his knees gave out. "Oh, Merlin, Hermione. What did you just do?"

"I told Albus Dumbledore to fuck off."

"You told Albus _fucking_ Dumbledore to fuck off," he repeated, looking up at her.

"Was that bad?" she asked, sitting down on the other armchair and biting her lip. She'd been caught up in her indignation, all the fury that had been simmering in the back of her mind, unspoken because nothing could change no matter how she felt about it… But what if Severus hadn't wanted it out? What if he'd wanted—

Severus interrupted her spiraling thoughts with a kiss. He kissed her like she'd never been kissed before in her life.

"Not bad, then?" she asked. He grinned at her.

"What just happened?" Madam Pomfrey said, struggling to right herself on the overlarge cushion.

Severus froze, his hands clenching on her waist. Hermione looked up at him, thinking of her Legilimency lessons: She'd seen memory upon memory of him under Madam Pomfrey's care. She'd been there for him. She hadn't asked him questions about curse residue or the scars from injuries he'd healed without her help. She'd called his mother once on his behalf. It hadn't done any good, but it had meant the world.

"Did Albus Dumbledore just Stun me?" Madam Pomfrey asked through clenched teeth. She'd righted herself, more or less, and sat on the edge of the conjured cushion.

"He did," Severus confirmed, still holding Hermione too tightly.

"And you had me at wandpoint not long before that."

"I did."

"You had better start talking, young man," Madam Pomfrey said, looking them over with narrowed eyes.

"This is… exactly what it looks like," Severus admitted, loosening his hold on Hermione ever so slightly. She had the insane urge to tuck herself into his chest and glare at the mediwitch. It wouldn't help, but it would feel nice.

"As I said," Madam Pomfrey said, voice low and slow like she was forcing herself to remain calm. "Talk."

"I'm nineteen," Hermione said, though it sounded stupid. "I am more than of age."

"I could tell as much from my diagnostics," Madam Pomfrey said coolly. "It remains that you are a student and he is a teacher. There is significant power imbalance. Not to mention stigma. I am contractually obligated—magically bound, in fact—to report such cases." She glared at Severus. "Which is why I am surprised you called me here."

"I wasn't thinking straight," he said. He actually looked embarrassed. "I panicked."

" _You_ panicked? You."

"She wasn't _moving_."

"Severus…"

"I'm sorry for putting you in this position, Poppy. You _have_ fulfilled your obligation to your contract, though. You alerted the headmaster."

"And he Stunned me?" Madam Pomfrey didn't sound like she believed any of it. "And then he left."

"I sort of shouted at him," Hermione said. Madam Pomfrey turned the disbelieving look on her, then back to Severus when he chuckled.

"She did." He sounded proud, and Hermione blushed.

\\\

Breakfast was surreal.

Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table just like always. Harry and Ron sat on either side of her, entirely oblivious to the insanity of her Sunday night. Ron had Lavender on his other side, and they were whispering sweet nothings at each other. Harry and Neville were talking Quidditch. It was so normal it was almost painful.

At the Head Table, Dumbledore stared at her while he ate his breakfast. Severus and Professor Sprout sat on either side of Madam Pomfrey at one end of the table, whispering. Madam Pomfrey still looked affronted, Professor Sprout was grinning, and Severus was carefully expressionless. The rest of the staff kept shooting the trio on the end curious glances.

\\\

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said after Transfigurations, gesturing for her to remain behind. "A word."

"Professor?" Hermione asked when the rest of the students were gone.

"Are you alright?"

"I had a glitch last night, but I'm fine. Thank you for asking, Professor."

"A glitch?"

"Er, yeah. I suppose it's a Muggle expression. A sort of hiccup? That internship with the Department of Mysteries ended with a memory block, and the fight yesterday broke it."

"Have you been to see Madam Pomfrey?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"She checked me over thoroughly this morning," Hermione said, repressing a blush. Madam Pomfrey had insisted on a full checkup before breakfast, not only evaluating her for injuries relating to the duel, but general health and wellbeing. It had been… very thorough.

"Is there anything you want to tell me, Hermione?" Professor McGonagall asked after a long enough pause for it to be significant.

Hermione snorted. "Yes, of course there is." She smiled. Professor McGonagall just looked sad. "However, there is nothing I _can_ tell you, Professor."

Professor McGonagall looked at her in silence for a moment, then picked up a folded piece of parchment off her desk and held it out. "The headmaster has excused you from Defense today. He is waiting for you in his office."

"Thank you, Professor."

\\\

He hadn't given her the password, but the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office stepped out of the way when she approached. She wasn't sure how to interpret that.

"Miss Granger," he said by way of greeting.

"Headmaster."

"Have a seat."

He gestured to one of the chairs across the desk, and she sat. He set aside his quill and parchment, and looked at her over the tops of his glasses. She looked back at him, keeping her expression politely curious.

"It is rather obvious Severus has told you more about the situation than I believed he would."

"You mean he told me more than you would've preferred," she said. "Sir."

"Yes." His honesty surprised her, but she kept her face passive. After a moment, he continued. "You should know that everything I do, everything I have asked Severus to do, is for the greater good."

"I know that, Headmaster. I don't disagree with your endgame; I take issue with your methods."

"You do not have enough information to—"

"You don't know what information I have," Hermione said, twitching her head to get her hair out of her eyes. "To be perfectly blunt, sir, you have spent so long playing this game of yours that you can't see the pieces anymore. Just the board. Just the goal. And while it is good to have your goal in mind, to think of the greater good, you are doing irreparable damage to the _pieces_ which are, in fact, human beings."

"This metaphor is—"

"It is lacking, yes. It doesn't lend itself well to the scope of your betrayal."

"I beg your pardon!" She could feel his magic in the room, stirring in his anger. It pressed at her, testing her.

"At fifteen, you sent Severus Snape to his death. As a _toddler_ , you began your manipulation of Harry Potter," she said, keeping herself from reacting to his magical probing.

"You cannot manipulate a toddler," Dumbledore said, almost petulant. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"You housed him with his Muggle relatives who hate the very idea of him. He was conditioned throughout his entire childhood. He will do _anything_ for a scrap of love, of any positive attention. You built him to be who he is." It made her want to cry, thinking of dear, sweet Harry. "You built him into the person you need, a self-sacrificing, righteous young man."

"I resent that," Dumbledore snarled. "I did nothing of the sort. I placed Harry Potter with the Dursleys because that is where he would be _safest_. He would be away from the sycophants who believed he had triumphed because he was the new Dark Lord rising. I knew—we knew—Tom Riddle would be back. Harry Potter was always going to have a difficult life. I wanted to give him a _normal_ life for as long as he could have it."

"And Severus?" Hermione prompted, holding utterly still.

"Severus volunteered."

"He was sixteen."

"You were younger."

Hermione looked away. "We aren't talking about me."

"Aren't we? Are you feeling used, Miss Granger? Do you feel that I should not have asked you—"

"We _aren't_ talking about me," she repeated, glaring him. He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him.

"Did I pass your test, then?" he asked. She hated him, but just for a moment.

"Yes."

"I didn't expect it to be so soon," he said, voice low and quiet, after a moment of silence had passed. "I thought you would have years, time to complete your schooling at least, before you were tested. Before _we_ were tested."

"I wish I didn't know about the Horcruxes," Hermione said, ignoring his stilted attempt of an apology. "Not knowing wouldn't help anything, but… Ignorance is bliss."

"It is," Dumbledore said, then half smiled at her. "Until it gets you killed."

She nodded, and looked down at her hands folded in her lap.

"Why now, Hermione?" he asked, and when she looked up he'd folded his own hands in his lap and was looking at her with earnest curiosity.

"Why what, sir?"

"Why test me now. What made you doubt?"

"Insight."

"I see."

"Do you?"

He smiled and nodded, grandfatherly again. "My methods, as you said before, are not easy or kind. Sacrifices to be made. Moves that have to appear unflinching."

"Yes."

"But you decided to test me today."

"There is an enormous difference between unflinching and appearing unflinching. Sir." She looked down at her hands again. "I didn't know to wonder about it when I was thirteen."

"I did hope you would be… friendly," Dumbledore said, changing the subject. "I didn't expect it to go this far."

"One never expects the pawn to grow attached to the queen?" When she looked up, Dumbledore was smiling at her fondly.

"You aren't a pawn, my dear."

"That makes me feel _so_ much better," she said, sarcastic, and it startled a laugh out of him.

"Have you told Severus?"

"I told him about the Department of Mysteries."

"It makes sense that their memory block would shatter if mine did."

"Yes. I suppose it does." He glanced at her, almost chastening for the anger in her tone, but she just raised an eyebrow at him.

"You plan for them both to die?"

"Unless you know of a way to destroy a Horcrux without destroying the vessel that contains it, now that you remember your time with the Unspeakables, I know of no way for Harry to survive the fall of Tom Riddle," he said, and he sounded as ancient as he looked. He looked pale and tired and old.

"And Severus?"

Dumbledore almost smiled. "With you by his side, my dear, I don't know how he could be killed."

"I'm sorry for yelling," Hermione said, because she wasn't sure what else to say. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "This morning. I'm sorry I yelled at you, sir."

"You don't owe me an apology."

"I do, though. I…" she sighed, fidgeting with her fingers while she tried to put her thoughts together. "Severus loves Madam Pomfrey like a mother. He has since he was a student here. And she reacted so _badly_ , Headmaster…"

The headmaster Summoned a tea tray from one of the side tables and poured her a cup of tea. She took it, grateful for something to do with her hands.

"It was a shock for her," he said gently.

"She is a child in your care," Hermione said, half laughing, mimicking his tone from earlier. "It's ironic, isn't it? I was a child in your care when you sent me to the Department of Mysteries. You sent a fourteen year old to join the Unspeakables. You made government officials oblivious for just the right span of time so that I was given unrestricted access." She sighed, setting her teacup aside. "It's hilarious. Wellbeing of the children, indeed."

"You were in no danger at the Department of Mysteries."

"You can't know that for sure."

"You were doing research."

"It always starts with the research," Hermione said, mostly to herself. She was thinking of Nicolas Flamel.

Dumbledore sighed and set aside his own cup of tea. "Give Poppy time and she will come around. There is very little that could permanently separate her from Severus.

Hermione yawned instead of answering, and Dumbledore smiled benignly at her.

* * *

A/N: I'm still not entirely satisfied with my Dumbledore, so feedback on that front in particular is much appreciated!


	24. Chapter 24

TWENTY-THREE

Severus found her in the Room of Requirement. It made perfect sense after he'd found her—they were always in the Room of Requirement late on Monday nights—but it almost hadn't occurred to him. So much had happened in just a few days.

"Are you alright?" he asked, conjuring himself an armchair. The Room wasn't in their usual arrangement—it was the same size and shape, with the large fireplace and bare walls, but instead of their armchairs and spindly table there was just an overlarge desk and chair. Hermione had papers and books spread across the desk, and there were two quills tucked into the knot of her hair.

"Albus Dumbledore is a spectacular ass," she said without looking up.

"What makes you say that?" He smiled, but only because she wouldn't see it.

"At the beginning of my third year, he asked me to look out for Harry," she said. "It's such a little thing, but it's always the little things with him."

Severus kept quiet.

"He—" She glanced at him and then looked back at her papers on the desk before continuing. "At the end of third year, before I'd even heard back about that internship, he asked me about Harry. He asked me to help Harry, to stay with him even when he was being utterly stupid."

"You would have anyway," Severus said, snorting. He didn't understand the draw there, how somebody so rational and otherwise sensible could have Harry Potter for a best friend. The boy was very much a _boy_ , irresponsible and hot-headed.

"Yes, I suppose. It's just…"

"It's how he manipulates you," Severus said, nodding. She finally looked at him. "He starts with things you would have done anyway, and a few years later you find yourself in the Room of Requirement with your least favorite teacher, and it seems like any other Monday night."

Hermione laughed, her eyes dancing. "Yes, but you were never my least favorite teacher."

"Dolores Umbridge does _not_ count."

"Moody—well, Barty Crouch, Jr., pretending to be Moody—was my least favorite. He treated Neville horribly."

"He probably couldn't resist." Crouch and the Lestranges had tortured the Longbottoms. He hadn't been sure she knew that, but the way she nodded told him maybe she had. " _I_ treat Neville horribly."

Hermione laughed again, lighter this time. "You don't do just to be mean, though. You do it because he frustrates you."

He scowled at her, and her eyes danced again. He wondered how long she'd been able to read him, how long she'd been able to see his motivations like that. Was it just since he'd taken her to bed? Longer? Since she'd played his Healer?

Longbottom _did_ frustrate him.

"He cares, you know," she said, leaning back in her chair as she changed the topic. He wasn't sure which 'he' she was referring to, so he just raised an eyebrow. "Dumbledore."

"Cares about what?"

"Us. Harry." She sighed. "The pieces in his game."

"How can you be sure?" he asked, surprised by the bitterness in his own voice.

"I tested him earlier."

"How?"

"I implied that he _didn't_ care. I told them he'd betrayed us, that he only thought of us as chess pieces."

"And?"

"He shouted at me. He tried to explain a few of his choices."

"Proving his heart is in the right place, even though he's asked me to kill him?" Severus asked. Hermione shrugged.

"He passed the test, I suppose." She sighed. "Though, of course, his response could be another manipulation. He could _want_ me to think that his heart is in the right place."

"Have you been in here all day thinking about this?" he asked, because she looked like she'd come to the end of her tether and reached and unhappy conclusion.

"Yes." She spun around in the desk chair—it was the Muggle sort, amusingly enough; the kind with wheels—and shoved her hair behind her ears. It sprung loose into her face immediately, but she ignored it. "I don't trust Dumbledore. Not anymore. Not after everything," she said. "Not knowing the things he's kept secret. I don't know what _other_ secrets he may have. It's dangerous. Especially since he's factored his own death into events. What happens to all his secrets, then?"

"And what would you do about it?" he asked, carefully neutral.

"Appeal to his better nature?"

"He's already acting on what his 'better nature' tells him to do. The greater good, remember?"

"Then we outmaneuver him."

"It can't be done."

"Do _you_ trust him, Severus?" He opened his mouth to tell her he did, but she cut him off. "No, _really_ trust him. Do you trust him?"

"I have to," he said because it was true. He'd put his life in the headmaster's hands when he'd been a student and it was much too late to take it back.

"I can't trust him," she said. She sat back, crossing her arms and her legs at once. She looked like she wanted to pace or fidget but was fighting the urge. "How can we trust him if the best he can do is plan his own death? How is that part of a plan? A _good_ plan?"

"Hermione…"

"I was wondering why he put the memory block on me," she said. "It makes no sense. All he asked was that I do my best for Harry, stick by him, help him. You're right; I would've done that anyway. And why did it need to be secret even from me?"

"That's—"

"It's odd is what it is," she said, finally giving in and stand up to pace.

"Yes," he said, watching her.

"What I've come up with is that he didn't want me to realize how many eggs he'd put in my basket."

"I thought you were a chess piece," he said, trying to lighten her mood. "Chess pieces don't have baskets."

"Ha," she said, rolling her eyes at him.

"Carry on." He smirked.

"He didn't want me to realize that he was counting on me to, well, influence—control?—Harry. And you, even. He didn't want me to realize how much he'd put on me."

"Because you were thirteen and he wasn't sure you could handle it? Or because he didn't trust you?"

"Both? Neither?" She threw herself back down into the desk chair. "Either way, he didn't want me to know he was counting on me. Which is odd. Which is _suspicious_. I don't want to rely on him anymore. I want a new plan."

"A new plan," he repeated, scrubbing a hand over his face. (He needed a shave.) "You realize how much effort has gone into the _old_ plan?"

"Yes."

"It's…"

"It's fucking impossible." She turned to gesture at her stacks of books and papers. "I've been at it all day."

Severus stood and looked over her shoulder. The desktop was covered in parchment with her neat handwriting, notes and numbers, all color-coded and cross-referenced to the books stacked on the edge of the desk.

"It looks like you've come up with something," he said, eyes lingering on the copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ open on the edge of the desk, propped up and open against the book beneath it.

"It won't work. He'll never agree to it."

"I thought the purpose of a new plan was to 'outmaneuver' Dumbledore," he said, pulling one of the bits of parchment closer. It had a list of names, the professors of Hogwarts and a few others, some of them crossed off.

"The best alternative I can come up with needs his approval. Hell, he's the one who has to put it into action."

"The Master and the Warden?"

"It's not even really an alternative," she said, morose. She flipped a page in _Hogwarts: A History_ , fidgeting more than anything else. "More of an advantage. Something that might help you, and by helping you help Harry."

"The headmaster will not agree to it."

"Not as things stand."

* * *

A/N: So hopefully that clears up some questions about that conversation in the headmaster's office last chapter... Next up, Slughorn's party and the return of a few of those elements I edited out of those earlier chapters.


	25. Chapter 25

TWENTY-FOUR

Harry had gotten it in his head that Hermione and Ron were supposed to be a thing. Or wanted to be a thing? Were _destined_ to be a thing? Whatever it was, Harry thought Hermione was a bit jealous of Ron and Lavender—which was absurd—and had taken up a neutral position between them. The positive in all of it was that he spent a few evenings a week in the library with her actually studying when he would otherwise have been mooning after Ginny or following Malfoy around on the Marauder's Map.

"He's at perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes," said Hermione. Madam Pince was just a few stacks over, so she kept her voice quieter than usual; the last thing she needed was to be kicked out when she was very close to finishing her Arithmancy essay. "I really couldn't care less."

Harry buried his nose in Severus's old copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ and continued to make notes on Everlasting Elixers. Hermione charmed the ink not to run and rolled up her essay, then remembered that she'd wanted to tell Harry about Romilda Vane.

"Incidentally, you need to be careful," she said.

"For the last time," said Harry, "I am not giving back this book. I've learned more from the Half-Blood Prince than Snape or Slughorn have ever taught me in—"

"I'm not talking about your stupid so-called Prince," Hermione, shooting a nasty look at the book anyway. It was only a matter of time before he came across a spell that he shouldn't. "I'm talking about earlier. I went into the girls' bathroom just before I came in here and there were about a dozen girls in there, including that Romilda Vane, trying to decide how to slip you a love potion. They're all hoping they're going to get you to take them to Slughorn's party, and they all seem to have bought Fred and George's love potions, which I'm afraid to say probably work—"

"Why didn't you confiscate them?" he demanded, looking slightly panicked.

"They didn't have the potions with them in the bathroom," she said scornfully, though she was holding back a smile. "They were just discussing tactics. As I doubt whether even the _Half-Blood Prince_ could dream up an antidote for a dozen different love potions at once, I'd just invite someone to go with you. That'll stop all the others thinking they've still got a chance. It's tomorrow night; they're getting desperate."

"There isn't anyone I want to invite," mumbled Harry. Hermione looked at the table for a moment so he wouldn't see her smiling—he was obviously thinking about Ginny. Again.

"Well, just be careful what you drink, because Romilda Vane looked like she meant business." The younger girl had actually made Hermione nervous, the challenging look in her eye when she'd realized Hermione had heard them plotting in the bathroom.

"Hang on a moment," Harry said. "I thought Filch had banned anything bought at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!"

"And when has anyone ever paid attention to what Filch has banned?"

"But I thought all the owls were being searched. So how come these girls are able to bring love potions into school?"

"Fred and George send them disguised as perfumes and cough potions," Hermione said. "It's part of their Owl Order Service."

"You know a lot about it.

"It was all on the back of the bottles they showed Ginny and me in the summer," Hermione said, which was true enough. She'd also known about it because she'd had a hand in developing the charms they used to mask the love potions as perfumes. Unintentionally. (She'd been chatting theory with Fred one afternoon, and a week later Gringott's had sent her a deposit receipt. Bastards.) "I don't go around putting potions in people drinks… or pretending to, either, which is just as bad…"

"Yeah, well, never mind that," Harry said quickly. "The point is, Filch is being fooled, isn't he? These girls are getting stuff into the school disguised as something else! So why couldn't Malfoy have brought the necklace into the school—?"

"Oh, Harry… not that again…"

"Come on, why not?"

"Look," sighed Hermione, "Secrecy Sensors detect jinxes, curses, and concealment charms, don't they? They're used to find Dark Magic and Dark objects. They'd have picked up a powerful curse, like the one on that necklace, within seconds. But something that's just been put in the wrong bottle wouldn't register—and anyway, love potions aren't Dark or dangerous—"

"Easy for you to say," Harry muttered.

"—so it would be down to Filch to realize it wasn't a cough potion, and he's not a very good wizard," Hermione said, feeling a bit bad as she said it. It wasn't Filch's fault the Secrecy Sensor couldn't detect an 'innocent' warped Freshening Charm on the lip of a perfume bottle. "I doubt he can tell one potion from—"

Hermione stopped, and Harry cocked his head to one side. He'd heard it, too. Somebody had moved close behind them among the dark bookshelves. They waited, keeping still. Hermione didn't remember reaching for it, but she had her wand in her hand instead of her quill.

And then Madam Pince appeared around the corner carrying her lamp. Just as she always did this late in the evening.

"The library is now closed," she said. "Mind you return anything you have borrowed to the correct— _what have you been doing to that book, you depraved boy_!"

"It isn't the library's, it's mine!" Harry said hastily, snatching _Advanced Potion-Making_ off the table as she lunged for it.

"Despoiled! Desecrated! Befouled!"

"It's just a book that's been written on!" said Harry, struggling to get it into his bag.

Madam Pince looked as though she might have a seizure. She shot Hermione an appalled look, like she was somehow an accomplice, but Hermione only shrugged. She shouldered her bag and grabbed Harry by the arm, towing him away.

"She'll ban you from the library if you're not careful," she said once they'd made the corridor. "Why did you have to bring that stupid book?"

"It's not my fault she's barking mad, Hermione. Or d'you think she overheard you being rude about Filch? I've always thought there might be something going on between them…"

"Oh, ha ha…"

They bickered about it the whole way back to the common room.

\\\

They didn't bicker on Friday night when they made their way to Slughorn's office for the Christmas party. They were both dragging, though. Neither really wanted to attend the party.

"We don't really _have_ to go, do we?" Hermione asked when the sounds of laughter, music and loud conversation had surrounded them a full corridor away from Slughorn's office. (There were charms that could've kept all that noise in; no doubt Slughorn had intentionally gone without so that any passing student without an invitation could feel properly left out.)

"We have to go," Harry said, though he didn't sound any happier about it than she felt.

Slughorn had Expanded his office as far as the castle would let him, it seemed. And he'd draped the ceiling and walls with emerald, crimson and gold hangings so that the room looked like a vast tent. It was crowded and stuffy. An ornate golden lamp hung from the ceiling with faeries providing the light. It smelled of pipe smoke and people.

"Harry, m'boy!" Slughorn boomed almost as soon as they squeezed through the door. "Come in, come in, so many people I'd like you to meet!"

Slughorn was wearing a smoking jacket and a tasseled velvet hat. He looked ridiculous.

Hermione had half a mind to turn around and leave, but Harry grabbed her hand and dragged her along with him when Slughorn put an arm around him and towed him into the room.

"Harry, I'd like you to meet Eldred Worple, an old student of mine…"

Worple wanted to write Harry's biography. They only barely escaped for the drinks table. Naturally, Professor Trelawney was hovering near the mead.

"Good evening, my dear," said Professor Trelawney, looking blearily at Hermione. She and Harry exchanged a look, waiting for a prediction of death or something else horrible, but nothing came. The professor merely nodded at her, and then turned to Harry. "Harry Potter!" she said, in deep, vibrant tones as she noticed him for the first time.

"Oh," Harry said. "Hello."

"My dear boy!" she said in what could've been a whisper if it hadn't carried quite so well. "The rumors! The stories! 'The Chosen One!' Of course, I have known for a very long time… The omens were never good, Harry… But why have you not returned to Divination? For you, of all people, the subject is of the utmost importance!"

Hermione scoffed, earning herself a glare from the Divination professor, but what could've turned into a scene was derailed by Professor Slughorn's timely arrival.

"Ah, Sybill, we all think our subject's most important!" He appeared at Trelawney's elbow, a mead in one hand and a meat pie in the other. "But I don't think I've ever known such a natural at Potions! Instinctive, you know—like his mother! I've only ever taught a few with this kind of ability; I can tell you that, Sybill—why even Severus—"

And then Professor Slughorn had looped Severus into the conversation. His arm shot out, and Severus was crunched to his side from out of nowhere. He glared down his nose at Harry.

"Stop skulking and come and join us, Severus!" hiccupped Professor Slughorn happily. "I was just talking about Harry's exceptional potion-making! Some credit must go to you, of course; you taught him for five years!"

"Funny, I never had the impression that I managed to teach Potter anything at all," Severus said. He was all in silk tonight. Black, naturally. She couldn't tell much else, what with him smashed in Slughorn's armpit, but she could see the quality of dress robes. She wondered if he'd thought of her when he was getting ready for the evening; she'd thought of him.

"Well, then, it's natural ability!" Slughorn shouted. "You should have seen what he gave me, first lesson. Draught of Living Death—never had a student produce finer on a first attempt. I don't think even you, Severus—"

Hermione frowned, still a bit miffed about that.

"Really?" Severus said quietly, his focus still on Harry.

"Remind me what other subjects you're taking, Harry?" asked Slughorn.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfigurations, Herbology…"

"All the subjects required, in short, for an Auror," Severus said.

"Yeah, well, that's what I'd like to do," Harry said, defiant.

"And a great one you'll make, too!" boomed Slughorn. Hermione quaffed half her mead, wishing Harry would release the vice grip he had on her hand so that she could make a run for it.

And then it got worse. Filch arrived, dragging Draco Malfoy along by his ear.

"Professor Slughorn," wheezed Filch, his jowls aquiver and the maniacal light of mischief-detection in his eyes, "I discovered this boy in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue an invitation?"

Malfoy pulled himself free of Filch's grip, looking furious.

"All right, I wasn't invited! I was trying to gate-crash, happy?"

"No, I'm not!" said Filch, though he certainly looked happy. Gleeful, almost. "You're in trouble, you are! Didn't the headmaster say that nighttime prowling's out, unless you've got permission. Didn't he, eh?"

"That's all right, Argus, that's all right," said Slughorn, waving the hand that was holding his mead. "It's Christmas, and it's not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once, we'll forget any punishment; you may stay, Draco."

Hermione exchanged a relieved look with Severus. If Draco was at the party, he couldn't be doing whatever he'd intended to be doing.

"A word with you, Draco," Severus said, interrupting whatever Malfoy and Slughorn had been saying.

"Oh, now, Severus," said Slughorn, hiccupping again, "It's Christmas, don't be too hard—"

"I'm his Head of House, and I shall decide how hard, or otherwise, to be," Severus said curtly. "Follow me, Draco."

They left. Malfoy looked distinctly resentful.

"I'll be back," Harry said, finally dropping her hand. She made a grab for it again, trying to pull him back. Whatever Severus was about to say to Malfoy, Harry probably shouldn't hear it.

"Harry—" But he was gone.

Luckily, she didn't quite have the celebrity status needed to hold Slughorn's attention, and the Potions Master excused himself with a vague statement about a refill. Hermione ducked into a corner made by a fold in the crimson hanging and Disillusioned herself before following Harry out.

"So that is why you have been avoiding me this term?" Severus asked as Hermione approached the last classroom in the corridor. She could only just tell where Harry was, crouched at the keyhole—a bit of his robe was sticking out from beneath the Cloak. She wouldn't have spotted it if she hadn't been looking for it. "You have feared my interference? You realize that, had anybody else failed to come to my office when I had told them repeatedly to be there, Draco—"

"So put me in detention! Report me to Dumbledore!" Draco looked a bit mad, but mostly just ill. His skin was almost gray, and he had dark circles beneath his eyes.

"You know perfectly well that I do not want to do either of those things," Severus said after a pause.

"You'd better stop telling me to come to your office then!"

"Listen to me," Severus said, voice low and dangerous. She almost couldn't hear him. "I am trying to help you…"

She caught snatches of the conversation, most of it from Draco when his voice rose to a shout.

"It's none of your business!" Then, almost shrill, "—detention!"

"Keep your voice down!" Severus spat.

Hermione backed up, putting her back against the wall across from the door. Harry had shifted, and the bit of his robe that she'd been able to see was covered by the Cloak again.

" _Duobus unum_ ," Draco intoned, and she could hear the sneer on his face.

"You little fool," Severus hissed, and then the door slammed open. Malfoy strode out, eyes too wide, and hurried past the open door of Slughorn's office, around the distant corner, and out of sight.

Severus appeared in the doorway, expression unfathomable. Slowly, he emerged from the classroom, looked down the corridor after Malfoy, and then turned the other way. After a moment's hesitation, Hermione followed him.

"Severus?" she asked when she finally caught up. He'd secreted himself in an alcove two floors down from Slughorn's office. He was sitting in a deep window seat, arms wrapped around his torso like he was was trying to keep himself from exploding.

"Who's there?" Severus asked, eyes darting around the dim space. He was paler than usual, eyes glazed and unfocused. He didn't stand, nor did he go for his wand.

"It's just me," she said, dropping her Disillusionment with the same flick of her wand that she cast a Notice-Me-Not on the entrance to the alcove. She pushed a strand of hair back from where it had gotten stuck to his forehead. "What's wrong?"

He didn't respond. He just stared at her.

"Severus, are you hurt?"

" _Fuck_ ," he said, bending forward at the waist. He put his elbows on his knees and grabbed at his hair.

"I don't know that spell, Severus. The one Malfoy used. Should I fetch Madam Pomfrey?"

Logical thinking was seeping away around the edges as the panic ate in. Was this what he'd felt when he'd woken and she hadn't been moving? She reached out and put her hands on his shoulders, trying to brace him—it was alarming, seeing him so out of control.

"Fuck," he said again, leaning back so quickly that her hands dropped from him. " _Why_ are you here?"

"Should I go?"

" _Why_ , Hermione?" he repeated, but this time it sounded rhetorical.

"I followed you," she said. Some niggling back corner of her brain wondered if Harry had followed him, too, or if he'd followed Malfoy. She hoped it was Malfoy, because he really didn't need to see Severus like this. Especially since she was here with him.

In private. Warded into an alcove, even if the ward barely counted as a privacy screen.

Alone in the dark.

Hermione bunched the long skirt of her dress robes up so that she could drop her knickers. By the time she'd stepped out of them, Severus had opened his robes and trousers. His cock jutted out at her, straining, the tip already glistening. Without preamble, Hermione straddled his hips and lowered herself down onto him.

Severus made a wonderful snorting, groaning noise when she took him in, his head falling back against the window behind him. Hermione braced one hand on his shoulder to keep her balance as she lowered herself down onto him.

She went still when she had him to the hilt, looking up into his face. His eyes were dark and dilated, his mouth gaping open. He looked like… a man. Just a man reacting to a woman. She sort of spasmed around him and she watched his eyes roll back into his head. He grabbed her hips, then, and thrust into her sharply.

It wasn't like before. Before, he'd been gentle and slow. He'd been careful with her.

"Oh _God_." Her eyes fluttered closed, her head fell back, and she let him take the lead. He used his grip on her hips to help her move the way he wanted her to. She held onto his shoulders and moved with him.

She'd expected to feel uncomfortable because it was still so new. It just felt _good_. It felt…

She came undone seconds before he did, falling forward to press her forehead to his shoulder as he jerked inside her. He leaned back against the window, breathing hard.

"What. the hell. was that," Hermione asked, still gasping for breath.

"Fucking," he said, shifting. He was still mostly hard inside her. It felt amazing. "That was fucking."

She bit the side of his neck none too gently, retribution for his deliberately misunderstanding her question. He jumped, surprised by her teeth, pushing himself deeper into her. They both groaned. She tilted her hips forward and sat up straighter so that she could kiss him.

Her robes were in the way. Her legs were tangled in the loose lengths of silk that were his robes, and her dress had twisted up to wrap around her knees and hips so that she could hardly move. She huffed out a breath, pulling back to kiss along his jaw, putting a hand on the cold glass of the window, trying to find some leverage. Severus answered her huff with a grunt, pulling out of her and twisting them around. Fabric tore, but neither of them paid it any mind.

She propped herself up on her forearms, turning her head so that she could see his reflection in the dark glass as he moved behind her now. He stared at the glass, too, eyes never leaving hers as he entered her again, this time from behind. It was new, a different angle; she felt—fuller?—like this. She screamed when he wrestled her robes out of the way and got his fingers on her clit.

He came inside of her again, his hips slowing to a spasmic rocking against her. Then, slowly, he withdrew. She watched him lick his fingers clean in the reflective glass.

"What was that spell?" she asked, moving so that she was sitting next to him in the window seat.

"I don't know," he said, tipping her face up to kiss her lips. It was deep and heated, and they were both gasping for breath when they separated. "But I think it has something to do with _this_."

"No shit," she said, elbowing him hard in the ribs, trying to bring some _sense_ back to the conversation, but her wrist grazed his cock when she moved, and they were lost again. He kissed her hard, and she wrapped her hand around his shaft.

\\\

It felt like a lifetime passed before they were fully in control of themselves. It was sheer physical exhaustion that brought them out of it.

They were naked, slumped together in the window seat. She could feel the cooling slime of sweat across her skin, sticking slightly to the matching gloss on him. There were other fluids cooling on them, as well.

"Are you alright?" Severus asked, combing his hands through her mad hair.

"I'm great," she said, feeling a little bit floaty. It was probably endorphins. Or whatever brain chemical it was that made her feel fantastic; it had been a long time since she'd read that particular book. "Confused, but great. And I think I'll be sore in the morning."

"We should go see Poppy," he said. She shook her head, settling more comfortably on the window cushion. In truth, she was already beginning to feel it—there would be bruises from the stone walls and the sharp edge of the window seat beneath the cushion, and she'd definitely need more of that blue jelly Severus had.

"You didn't hurt me, Severus."

"I'm more worried about whatever curse Draco used, actually," he said. His hands had moved on from her hair and were stroking along her body, sending shivers of renewed arousal up and down her spine.

"I think you're right," she finally said, grabbing hold of his hands with her own and squeezing. She wanted to pull his hand closer and guide his fingers up into her, but if she did that she wasn't sure she'd be able to stop again. "This isn't normal."

"It most assuredly is not," he said, his body sort of bowed over her now that he didn't have his hands on her. He was half erect. She wanted to suck him off.

"Fuck it," she said, pushing away from him to stand. "We _need_ to see Poppy."

They fumbled for their clothes, not looking at each other. Her dress had ripped, the skirt separating from the bodice and the bodice itself missing all the buttons that had been up the back. His fine silk robes were missing a few of their buttons, as well, but it was the trousers he'd had on beneath that had taken the brunt of it.

Her _Reparo_ wouldn't take, so he handed her his rumpled shirt. They didn't look at each other as they cast quick Cleansing Charms and more than a few Freshening Charms. She conjured a hair elastic and yanked her hair back into a loose ponytail, since he'd run his hands through it too many times to do anything else.

They were careful not to touch as they turned to the entrance of the alcove and Hermione removed her Notice-Me-Not. She grabbed his wrist, though, when they found a barrage of wards and silencing spells on the other side of her charm.

"What—" she started, but he stepped forward and blasted the spells away, temporarily blocking her view of the hall when he moved in front of her.

"Poppy," he said, his voice mostly suspicious despite the relief she could hear in his tone.

"What are you _thinking_?" Madam Pomfrey hissed. Hermione edged out of the alcove putting a hand on Severus's elbow and immediately regretting it when the touch sent of tingle of desire snaking up her arm and set her heart beating like she'd run a marathon. "In a _window_? Severus. _I could see you from the hospital wing_."

"Jesus Christ," Hermione muttered. Severus paled.

"There was—" Severus began, but Madam Pomfrey interrupted.

"Hospital wing. Now," Madam Pomfrey said sharply, her eyes flicking over the pair of them. "This reeks of bewitchment."


	26. Chapter 26

TWENTY-FIVE

"You sit _there_ ," Madam Pomfrey said, giving Severus a push in the direction of the bed. Again. He hadn't even realized he'd stood up.

Glowing runes spun a nimbus around him, making him dizzy. Poppy looked back and forth between them, jabbing and twisting her wand as she cast and recast her diagnostic spells.

Hermione cleared her throat, and he knew it was because she was covering a moan. She wanted him. He could feel it. It was the strangest thing he'd ever felt.

Poppy spun and fixed him with a glare, but he knew better than to assume she was glaring at him. She was glaring at the conundrum he presented. Whatever curse Draco had cast.

Hermione arrived at his side, all chaotic hair and the smooth fabric of his own shirt. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, only to be shooed away by Poppy's spell.

" _You_ sit over _there_ ," Poppy said, indicating the bed across from his. "I swear, I will tie you both down!"

Severus held himself rigid—if he was anything less than absolutely still, he'd succumb to the urge to go to her. He stared at her instead. He wondered how she was feeling, if she was sore, if she was uncomfortable. It had been only barely a week ago that he'd taken her virginity; today, he'd… well. He'd had his cock in every relevant orifice of her body was what he'd done. He'd fucked her. He hadn't been gentle. She hadn't seemed to want him to be gentle—hell, she'd _bitten_ him, ridden him, urged him on—but Draco's spell had been driving them, pushing them far past what they'd normally be comfortable with.

"Severus!" Poppy said, then jabbed her wand at him.

"Sorry," he grunted. He didn't even remember standing up.

He looked out the enormous windows that lined the walls of the hospital wing. On one side, the one Hermione was facing, the view of the forest and Quidditch pitch was spectacular. On the other, a rectangular courtyard. He could easily see Slughorn's rooms, six windows still shining brightly in the night, glowing emerald and crimson from the draperies covering them. There, two floors down and four windows over, the candlelight only beginning to show around the edges of Poppy's obscuring charm, was the window of the alcove.

"What time is it?" Hermione asked, bringing his thoughts back to the hospital wing.

"Past midnight," Poppy said, looking up from her book. She had a stack of them now.

" _What_?" Severus asked, standing up again. Poppy shot him a look, and he settled reluctantly back on the foot of the bed. "It can't be."

They'd left almost as soon as he'd arrived at the "party." That had been just after seven. That left more than four hours in the gap for…

"That is physically impossible," Severus said, mostly to himself. It hadn't seemed odd (or uncomfortable) in the alcove, but it was in retrospect.

"Which is why you both are _here_ while I try to decipher this spell, instead of… off someplace more private than that alcove," Poppy said, not harshly but not particularly kindly either.

\\\

"Here," Poppy finally said. She held an old book, a small book. It was an unassuming little thing. Severus scowled at it.

"Well?" Severus asked when all Poppy did after her announcement was read and make annoyed noises at the back of her throat.

"It is an old wedding spell," Poppy said.

" _What_?" Severus said at the same time Hermione squeaked out, "I _beg_ your pardon!"

Poppy carried on as if they hadn't said anything. "They used to use it at the end of a wedding reception. The bride's father would cast it on the groom as the new couple was being sent off to their honeymoon. Don't give me that look; it has nothing to do with marriage, no legal binding. To put it bluntly, the spell 'enhances physical pleasure and encourages fidelity,' the end goal of which was probably to produce more children." Poppy turned the page, glancing up at them only briefly. "The first seventy hours of the spell are the most… severe," she said.

"Draco Malfoy is _not_ my father," Hermione said.

"It was merely tradition for the father to cast it. It doesn't actually affect the potency of the spell," Poppy replied. Hermione frowned.

"That's not normal," Hermione said, frowning at the book. "The father of the bride putting a sex curse on the 'happy couple?'"

"It was probably a symbolic gesture," Severus said. "Young women being chattel, traded from father to husband."

Hermione hexed him, wandlessly and nonverbally. She didn't even move, and he smirked at her. The sparks snapping in her hair were becoming a familiar sight; he loved baiting her. She was magnificent.

"Sit _down_ , Severus," Poppy said.

"Why this spell?" Hermione asked. "Of all the spells he knows, of all the spells he could've chosen, he went for this one?"

"It's obscure," Severus said. "These sorts of spells are reminiscent of arranged marriages, and those've been out of style for hundreds of years in the wizarding community. Its use was likely a dig at my blood status, since I'd never have guessed to look in that particular book for an answer as I wasn't raised by Pureblood traditionalists. Also he'd just finished implying that I needed 'a good shagging.'"

"That's rather insulting," Hermione said, and he laughed. Poppy did not look amused in the least, possibly because he'd just implied her parents were Pureblood traditionalists (which they hadn't been) but more likely because of the spell Draco had used.

"There's no lifting it," Poppy said crossly. "It lasts a year and a day—that particular tradition came from these spells, not the other way around."

"You can't be serious," Hermione said. Poppy handed over the book, then sat on one of the adjacent beds.

"We must tell the headmaster. The pair of you will… You'll need to be sent somewhere together for the first part of the holidays. At the very least," Poppy said. "And away from the school."

It was very hard to read her on this. She seemed unhappy, but not. She'd said that she'd only called the headmaster before because she was magically bound to do so. She'd also hinted over breakfast that she found his timing atrocious. She hadn't expressed any outright opinion on him and Hermione as a couple, which was almost out of character for her. She usually weighed in on any and all aspects of his life whether he asked for her input or not.

He looked over at Hermione, wondering… His brain short-circuited when her shirt gapped open and his train of thought derailed sharply. He stared at her tits for awhile. Poppy was the one to notice, and thumped his shoulder with her fist.

" _Focus_ , Severus."

"I _was_ ," he muttered, which earned him another thump. Hermione looked at him through her eyelashes and smirked.

\\\

"Was it a petty schoolboy thing, or a Death Eater thing?" Hermione asked when Poppy left them alone to go speak with Dumbledore. She'd attached them to their separate beds with Sticking Charms, and it was taking a great deal of composure not to brush the charm aside and go to Hermione.

"What?" he asked, clenching his hands on his thighs.

"Malfoy. When you talked to him before, when you left Slughorn's party." She looked like she was having just as much trouble staying in her place as he was. "You fought, presumably about what he's expected to do. And I'm wondering if cursing you was a petty schoolboy thing or a Death Eater thing."

"Both," he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. "He is a petty schoolboy playing at being a Death Eater."

"Dangerous combination," she muttered, mostly to herself. He snorted, amused.

"Distract me," he said, because he wanted to kiss her.

"What?"

"Distract me," he said again. "Say anything." He called up the look Poppy had had on her face before she'd left them to speak to the headmaster. She'd been… forlorn? "Tell me a story." He wanted to stay where she'd told him to for the sake of that strange look on her face.

Hermione gave him a curious look, then acquiesced.

"I was so happy the day I first went to Diagon Alley. It was the first weekend in August. I was excited," she said. "I loved all of it immediately, but my parents were overwhelmed. Everybody was in robes; there were broomsticks in shop windows. They opened an account for me at the bank where the teller was a goblin. We went through my school list, bought robes and my potions kit. They spent a small fortune on books that weren't even on the list. Visiting Ollivander's made it real for them, though. They sat in those chairs by the window and watched all the people pass by outside, and watched me wave wands around.

"I know my mum cried that night before bed—quietly in their bedroom, but I could hear it through the vents. My dad was glad there was a place for me, that there were other people like me. "She smirked at him. "He'd been afraid I was some anomaly and the government would come take me away."

"My father thought I was an anomaly and that government _should_ come take me away," Severus said. Hermione almost laughed, but then grew serious.

"I hope I never meet him, Severus. I don't think it would go well."

"I think I'd enjoy it," he said, then reconsidered. "No, I wouldn't. He would say something foul to you, and I would probably hit him."

"Defending my honor?"

"Me da always had a knack for getting me to stoop to his level," Severus said. She smiled at him, almost shy.

"I like it when you say things like that."

"Like what?"

"'Me da.'" She shrugged. "You sound like you do in your thoughts."

He wanted to kiss her again. Damn.

He'd trained himself to speak like a proper Pureblood. His mother had always told him to "speak _properly_ " when he was growing up, but he'd mostly ignored it. By Christmas his first year, he'd begun to imitate the other boys if only because they didn't mock him quite so much when he did. It had been all the more important when he'd agreed to spy for Dumbledore. He'd even grown his hair out and kept it long the way Purebloods wore their hair, though it wasn't a particularly flattering style on him. (He tied it back out of the fucking way whenever he could get away with it.)

She was the only one who knew—who could know—that he still had that scrappy Manc boy in his head; she was the only one who had touched his thoughts, not just his memories.

"We were almost friends this summer, weren't we?" she asked. She looked at him and held his eyes, wouldn't let him look away. "You're my teacher, but you're also the man who quoted _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ at Grimmauld Place."

"Nobody was supposed to catch the reference," he muttered. She grinned.

"I did."

He smirked, because he'd made a comment about towels in the kitchen over the summer and tea had come out her nose.

"You probably know me better than anybody in the world," she said, sobering as she sensed his mood shift. "You taught me Occlumency, you taught me Legilimency. You let me _in_ when you taught me Legilimency." She sighed and put an escaped curl behind her ear. Again, he wanted to put his hands in her hair, release it from the elastic and bury his face in it. Her perfect, chaotic curls. "It could be worse, I think."

* * *

Hermione rose and settled herself on her knees on the foot of the bed next to him. They'd both brushed aside Madam Pomfrey's Sticking Charms without much thought, and they'd surely hear about it later, but being close was more important. She wrapped her arms around him, and he leaned into her, pressing his face into her chest. For the first time in hours, it wasn't a sexual touch.

She held onto him, stroking his back. A small voice at the back of her mind whined that she shouldn't be the one to comfort him; he was _older_ , he was _more responsible_ , he was the teacher and she was the student. But in this they were just a man and a woman. He was allowed to fall apart.

He pulled back and looked at her, dark eyes for once showing every emotion. Her heart clenched to see it; it hurt.

Then he kissed her. He reached up and touched her cheek, drawing her down to him. She fell into the kiss, let him lead, opened her mouth when he tongue swept across her lips. She collapsed into his lap, feeling his arousal beneath her and itching along beneath her skin. She was exceedingly aware that she wasn't wearing anything but his shirt.

He groaned like it was a noise he was unwilling to make, like she'd torn it out of him. She wanted to make him groan again.

She jerked the buttons of his robes out of the buttonholes and shoved the fabric aside. He was bare beneath since she was wearing his shirt, and she ran her hands up and down his sides. He was so warm.

His lips slid down her throat. He'd opened the shirt while she was distracted, and his lips found the juncture of her throat and shoulder. He held her close, hands _everywhere_ , in her hair, unbuttoning the rest of the buttons, on her breasts.

"Severus," she whispered, and kissed him. She gasped and swallowed down a groan as he spun them in a quick movement, planting her beneath him with his knees on either side of her hips. "Don't stop," she said, opening his trousers and freeing him from his boxers. "Don't stop."

He sank into her and then held her still. They were breathing hard. She could feel his arousal itching beneath her skin through the spell, amplified by—or maybe amplifying—her own rush. She grabbed his face and kissed him. His hips jerked, and then he was pounding into her like he had in the alcove. (And the mattress was exponentially more suited to it than the window seat had been.)

"This curse—spell, whichever—is a complication you didn't need," she said when a bit of coherency returned, trying to address that melancholy that had come over him after he'd brought up his father. They were lying together on the bed, a tangle of limbs and partially removed clothes. He'd tucked her into his side and had one hand twisted up in her hair, the other palming her breast. It felt nice. Very, very nice.

"Yes," he agreed, though he sounded far away. Distracted. He leaned in and kissed the side of her neck.

"Severus, I don't want you to feel guilty. You don't need to feel guilty."

"I should feel guilty."

"I consent. I _gladly_ , _willingly_ consent," she said, ghosting her fingertips along his flanks. He shivered, and she wanted him again. "We could take an impotence potion, if you'd like. Remove sex from the equation."

"Proving what?" Severus asked as he lifted his thigh and settled it over both of hers, pressing his erection into her hip as he did so.

"Proving I'm not here because of this spell."

"I already knew that. As you said, the spell is just a complication we didn't need."

"Tell me what I can say, what I can do, to make this better. To make this easier for you." She splayed her hand flat against his ribs. "Severus, we seem to have to explain to everybody that I'm of age and choose to be here. Don't make me explain it to you."

He didn't say anything, just pressed almost chaste kisses across her collar bones and the tops of her breasts.

"Do you regret it?" she asked.

"Hell no," he said. "Never say that. Never _think_ that." He looked into her eyes, his gaze black and intense and... He drew one of her nipples into his mouth, suckling it almost too hard. Hermione's eyes rolled back into her head with pleasure.

"Okay."


	27. Chapter 27

TWENTY-SIX

"They shouldn't stay at the school," Poppy said, back stiff as she resisted the urge to cast diagnostics on the man. The headmaster didn't look well. He looked furious, of course, but he also looked ill. Very, very ill.

"I suppose you want me to expel the Malfoy boy," the headmaster said, popping a lemon drop into his mouth and sticking it in his cheek.

"I know better than to expect that to happen," Poppy said. " _He_ will be home for the holiday, as will the rest of the Slytherins. Which means, for once, Severus is perfectly contractually able to leave the school for the break. As he should, in this case."

Hermione Granger was the one good thing to happen to that boy in a decade. She'd be damned if she'd let Albus Dumbledore take it away from him.

"She is good for him, sir," Poppy said.

"She is something to lose," Dumbledore said, sucking on the lemon drop noisily. "And her loss will burn through him. I don't know how he'll react."

"You think she's going to die?" Poppy was appalled. Not only had he recruited _students_ for his fight, he put them in potentially fatal positions?

"Die? I'm not sure. It's possible." The headmaster leveled a look at her, both mournful and cynical. Old, tired. "He will lose her, though. She won't stay with him."

"She loves him."

"She is young."

"With all due respect, sir, you don't know Hermione Granger."

"I do know Severus Snape, though," Dumbledore said.

Poppy startled herself by laughing out loud. "He loves her. The spell confirms it."

"How so?" the headmaster asked, his voice suspiciously even.

"I spotted them in their alcove and thought to give them privacy. I checked an hour later, hoping to remove my charms before somebody noticed them and grew suspicious." Poppy cleared her throat. "Let's just say they were still going at it with as much _enthusiasm_ as they had been. According to the book, that is a common reaction when the couple—brought together—is in love. A deep heart sort of love that will last past the children and through grouchy old age and saggy bits."

She thought it was rather sweet, if also surprising. She would not have put them together if she hadn't seen it.

(And boy had she seen it.)

The headmaster stood, robes snapping around him. The room seemed darker from the power of his anger alone. Poppy blinked at him, surprised.

"Sir?"

"He cannot love her," Dumbledore said.

"I assure you—"

"No," Dumbledore snapped.

"She's a student, yes, but quite mature for her—"

"I don't care how old she is, and I don't care that she's his student," Dumbledore snapped, and then he strode around the desk and was gone. She heard his rapid descent, heard the gargoyle leap out of the way.

"What?" Poppy said aloud, half hoping one of the portraits would provide insight, but they were silent. She stood and hurried after the man.

The headmaster was striding down the ward by the time she caught up to him. The privacy screens were in place around the two beds at the far end, privacy spells still in place as well.

"Headmaster, I should warn you—" Poppy started, but Dumbledore didn't break his stride. He stepped around the screen, and then stepped out just as quickly. He was crimson, but she couldn't tell if it was from anger or embarrassment.

"Severus Snape, if I have to see your bare backside one more time before New Year's, I will jinx it as green as a Slytherin's Quidditch jersey," Poppy said, jerking the screen back into place. She'd done her best not to look, but his pale buttocks straining between Miss Granger's knees had dominated the scene on the other side of the screen.

On the other side, Granger squeaked and there was a soft whump as they two of them fell or flinched. Then the unmistakable sounds of orgasms. Poppy took a step down the ward so that the privacy spells would keep the rest of the noise from her ears.

"Merlin's hairy elbows," Poppy said, rubbing her forehead. Dumbledore looked at her, his color returned to normal, and then he turned and stepped back around the privacy screens. She followed him, resisting the urge to wring her hands.

Severus scrambled off Granger, and the girl—woman—pulled her knees to her chest, quickly buttoning the borrowed shirt she wore. Severus moved to block their view of her, which was a surprisingly gentlemanly move and nearly made Poppy smile.

Then the shouting started. If the verbal tirade itself hadn't been enough to make her ears ring, the vibration of the wizards' agitated magic pushing against each other would have been. It was like they were a pair of second years just learning to control their magic, only these were much more powerful wizards than any she'd encountered.

"That is ENOUGH!" Poppy shouted, stepping forward to put herself between the two. She wondered how Granger could just sit there on the bed behind Severus, looking thoughtful. Perhaps she was still caught in the thread of that spell and she was sitting there admiring Severus's backside or something ridiculous, but Poppy didn't think so; she knew Granger well enough to know she was chewing on a thought.

Poppy added her own voice to the shouting. Severus stepped forward and physically held her back when she tried to wag her finger in the headmaster's face. She couldn't shake his grip, damned man. Dumbledore drew himself up, crossed his arms. Then Severus let her go and matched the headmaster's posture, glaring down his nose. Poppy stood between them, gesticulating wildly at both of them now as she berated them.

Infantile buggers, the both of them.

"I see," Granger said, sounding strangely resigned. And then the young witch stood up, attempted to pull the shirt down her thighs a bit more, then stepped up next to Severus. She addressed Dumbledore when she said, "You don't have to do this. You've done enough." Her voice was gentle, and it silenced them all.

"Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked, turning his focus to her, not quite glaring. Poppy could feel the magic swirl around them, not jumping out in uncontrolled bursts of anger now, but probing, inspecting Granger. Then Granger pushed back, shoving Dumbledore's aura away. Poppy's eyes widened; the witch was a match for these men.

"You don't have to make him angry," Granger said. "You don't have to make him hate you."

Dumbledore looked like he was in pain, and he turned his eyes from the witch to Severus. "She will hurt you," he said, gentler than before. "If she found out— _when_ she knows what—"

"She knows everything already," Severus said. Neither his tone nor his posture relaxed as the headmaster's had. He was still very angry.

"She…"

"She's known for weeks."

"Has she?" Dumbledore asked, his voice now that thoughtful, calculating tone Poppy had learned to expect (and hate) whenever he spoke of Harry Potter. "That explains that little episode in my office."

Power flared off Granger, lashing out at the headmaster. Poppy expected an answering surge from him, but Granger's overpowered him, or maybe surprised him. Sparks danced in her hair, and the headmaster took a step back. Severus put a hand on Granger's arm, and her magic snapped back to the confines of her own body.

These three were the most powerful in the school, Poppy realized. Minerva or Horace could probably give Granger a run for her money, but only because they had years of experience to their advantage. The realization was an odd combinations of terrifying and soothing. Terrifying because she was _so_ bleeding young, soothing because Severus had found himself a good match.

She decided to approve of them, against her better judgement.

* * *

Within the hour, they'd left Hogwarts. An elf had been dispatched to Hermione's room to pack, and her trunk and the bag she kept her class materials in had appeared in the entrance hall where she'd been left to wait. Severus had arrived five minutes after her things, and then they'd left the castle.

It felt like they were being sent away, leaving in the dark of night as they were. She supposed they deserved it.

The spell tickled along her skin, churning up her libido at the prospect of complete privacy with Severus.

"This way," Severus said, lifting her trunk by the handle and leading the way. Something stupid and girly fluttered in her chest because he was carrying her trunk for her.

She followed him out of the dark alleyway he'd Apparated them to, then down a street that was almost as dark. The whole neighborhood had a gloominess to it that only came from decades of unhappiness and neglect. She recognized it as the neighborhood from his memories; Spinner's End was just around the corner.

The house looked exactly the same as she remembered it. Or, really, as she remembered the way he remembered it.

It was a row house like headquarters, gray-brown and weathered. There was no garden, no gate, no decorative knocker, no hint of personality. There was one window beside the door and three windows on the second floor; all of them were opaque, though she couldn't tell if the wards kept her from seeing inside or if it was simply dark. The door was painted black, and the paint was flaking a bit near the keyhole.

"I hate it here," Severus said, producing a key and opening the front door.

"We could go to a hotel," she suggested, but he shook his head just as she knew he would.

"We shouldn't be seen," he said.

"Muggle hotel?"

"Don't be ridiculous." The near-disgust in his voice made her smile, though she turned her face so that he wouldn't see it.

The inside of the house was cramped and dusty. The furniture was threadbare, the woods in desperate need of a fresh coat of varnish. She could _feel_ how much he hated the space.

Off the entryway was a sitting room cum library, and she knew that it was his Dark Arts collection, books too dangerous to have even in his private rooms at the school. The dining room was across the entryway from the library, a barren room with four chairs around a scarred old table. The kitchen attached to the dining room and the hall, dominated by ugly beige tile and antique appliances. That was all of the house she could see, though she knew that there was a staircase hidden behind the bookcase in the library that led up to the bedrooms, and that the only bedroom with anything in it was the one Severus used in the summers (he'd gutted the closet of a room he'd slept in as a child after Wormtail had used it). She also knew that one of the few things Severus didn't hate about the place was the garden behind the house, hidden from Muggles and much larger than the space would naturally accommodate; it was a simple kitchen garden, since he wasn't around often enough to properly tend a potions garden, but he was proud of it.

Hermione walked into the dining room and dropped her school bag inside the door, then turned to Severus. He set her trunk and his duffel bag just inside the door, then locked up again and flicked his wand, locking down the wards. Then he stepped up to her and kissed her, lifting her, shifting her backwards to sit on the dining room table. The table groaned ominously, but supported her weight.

"You know," Severus said between kisses, "I've never brought a girl home before."

"I _have_ met your mother, though," Hermione said, laughing when he scowled.


	28. Chapter 28

TWENTY-SEVEN

"Shite," Severus said letting go of the headboard. His arms thumped to the mattress, muscles too fatigued to pretend any sort of grace.

Hermione kissed her way up his chest, and settled against his body. Her hand stayed on his cock, holding him fondly. Two days ago, that would've been all it took to bring him up for another round, but he was long since exhausted. As was she, if the loose weight of her was anything to go by.

"I think it must be wearing off," Hermione said. Her fingers tickled gently along his thighs, his sack. It felt nice, it felt _good_. He was so tired, though.

"God, I hope so," he said. If he ever moved again, it would be too soon.

"I'm starving."

Now that she mentioned it, he was too. There wasn't much food in the house, and all of it would be downstairs in the pantry. That was much too far away.

He looked down at her, thinking. It had been three days. He had come to love the little gasping groan she made when he licked her nipples, and the way she smiled when he slid into her. He knew every dip and swell of her flesh, every erogenous zone, every ticklish spot. She knew the same of him.

"I think we ate everything in the pantry yesterday," he said. "But I can't remember."

It was all a haze of lust. Going from room to room, kissing, touching.

"I don't want to move," she said, and he chuckled.

"Well which is it?" he asked. "You don't want to move, or you're starving."

"Both."

"I don't have any house elves."

"Thank God."

"It means we'll have to move."

Hermione groaned and levered herself up, flopping next to him on the bed. He wanted her back in the circle of his arms as soon as she was gone, but instead he stood up and started searching through the bureau for something to wear. His robes were downstairs somewhere, but they'd hardly be appropriate for the Muggle neighborhood.

Twenty minutes later, they were dressed and decent. The neighborhood market wasn't the sort of place he wanted to bring Hermione, so he Apparated them to one he'd visited with Lily's family the summer after their second year. It wasn't far, but it was far enough.

They walked the aisles, enjoying the anonymity. He held her hand for awhile, only letting her go when he needed his hands to help carry the food.

* * *

Hermione followed Severus through the market, giving her opinion on fruits and vegetables, selecting a crusty loaf of bread. Her mind was elsewhere. At first, she was wondering if and when the weekend was going to catch up to her; she was due for some truly debilitating soreness, she was sure of that. Then her mind turned to the conversation they'd had in the hospital wing, to Dumbledore.

The headmaster had been deliberately provoking Severus. He'd insinuated she was an indulgence, insulted Severus, done everything he could to make him angry. The conclusion she'd reached was that Dumbledore cared for Severus; he wanted to make it easier for him to complete his task when the time came. He might not actually have any idea the anger Severus held back where he was concerned. The resentment for the way the headmaster had shaped his life from before he'd been able to see the reality of the world well enough to realize that his decisions _would_ shape his life.

It was strange to think that the headmaster cared for Severus. He probably cared for Harry, too, at that. She couldn't decide if it was twisted or just sad, the idea that he'd prepared these two men to sacrifice their lives for the greater good (because while Severus might not die in Dumbledore's grand plan, he had certainly given his life to it) and possibly felt something for them as well, that he didn't just think of them as tools to be sharpened and applied…

"What's wrong?" Severus asked. They'd made their purchases and were headed for the alley where they could Disapparate.

"I was thinking about Dumbledore."

"Don't. You don't need to."

"I know."

"And it doesn't help," he said, turning to look at her. "The more you try to decipher him, the more migraines you'll get."

Hermione went up on her toes and kissed him, then froze. Kisses always led to…

Severus smirked at her and kissed her forehead. "It really must be wearing off after all," he said, then took her arm and Side-Along Apparated her back to Spinner's End.

It really was a depressing neighborhood. Everything was falling apart, everything was dirty. She'd barely registered it all when they'd first walked in, too caught up in the spell as it hammered at her hormones.

"We really need to get that book from Madam Pomfrey," she muttered, and he chuckled.

\\\

They'd assembled pan-fried chicken and steamed vegetables, toasted up the bread, and Severus had produced a bottle of wine. They'd finished off the bottle while they did the dishes by hand, chatting at the sink. It was very strangely domestic.

"It's Christmas Eve," Severus said, his focus out the window over the sink. The wind had picked up outside, and it was snowing like nothing else. It was beautiful and quiet. All the grit of the neighborhood covered up in layers of white fluff.

"Take me to bed, Severus."

* * *

He woke with Hermione in his arms for the fourth morning in a row, and it was a little bit wonderful. He lay there for maybe ten minutes, enjoying it, and then he realized his cock thought it was wonderful, too. He groaned.

"You know," Hermione said, her voice hoarse from sleep, "every other man I know would be giddy at the thought of a willing witch in their bed and a spell that gives them seemingly endless stamina."

She turned in his arms, planting a kiss on his chest before turning her chin up to look at his face. He tried to scowl at her, but he really just wanted to kiss her.

"We haven't gotten a thing done in _days_ ," he said. "There's a war on."

"Kiss me. We'll get things done later."

He did as he was told.

\\\

It took several hours for him to read through all her research, and he had to do it while she was in a different room. He sat in the reading chair in the sitting room, the one he'd bought after his first term as a professor at Hogwarts to replace the sunken recliner his father had loved to get drunk in. The books floated around him, ready to be grabbed to check her references. She stayed upstairs except when she made lunch in the kitchen, which turned into a two-hour distraction of fucking and eating sandwiches before they managed to disentangle themselves.

"Who do you plan to be Master?" he asked, finding her in what had become _their_ bedroom. He kept his eyes on the parchment he'd brought with him.

"You, of course."

"Dumbledore plans for me to be headmaster."

"Because he doesn't plan to tell Professor McGonagall anything," she shot back. He sat on the foot of the bed facing her where she sat at the tiny desk he had smashed into one corner of the room. "If he brings Professor McGonagall in, she could play a part as headmistress, and you could be Master, which would give you an advantage."

"Dumbledore will never agree to bringing Minerva in."

"I was thinking we'd just tell her."

"He'd Obliviate her."

"Time is running short, surely he knows that."

"Probably better than we do," Severus said, running a hand through his hair only to remember he'd pulled it back since it was just the two of them in the house. Nobody to see him looking so un-Pureblood.

"Is he going mad? Truly?" Hermione asked, glaring. "Was he always like this, or is this the curse eating away at him?"

"It's hard to say."

"It's infuriating."

She was magnificent. She was sitting there in the spare chair from the dining room, old jeans and a Weasley sweater that was getting to be too small for her, talking with her hands. He wanted to put run his fingers through her hair and turn that passion away from anger.

"Don't you dare," she said, crossing her legs at the knee. "Don't you dare, Severus."

"What?"

"I _know_ that look."

He cleared his throat, which made her smirk. His cock twitched.

"When we get back to the castle, you brew this and we'll both drink it," she said, handing the piece of parchment she'd been writing on when he'd entered the room. Her hands were shaking.

He raised an eyebrow, looking over the page of scribbles and equations. "It's an impotence potion," he said.

"I give it three months, maybe four, before you decide the only reason I'm here is Malfoy's spell. That's not true. At all. So I'm avoiding the conversation entirely. Also, this might allow us a bit of focus."

His eyes snapped up from where they'd drifted down to her wool-covered breasts. (He was almost entirely sure she wasn't wearing a bra.) She smirked at him.

He looked away, glancing over her arithmancy. It was correct, of course. The variation on a standard impotence potion she'd theorized would trick her body into thinking it was pregnant, which the spell would see as a fulfillment and lay off the bloody hormonal surges. The impotence potion would nullify the spell in him too, as he'd be physically unable to become aroused.

"How long did it take you to come up with this?"

"I thought of it when Madam Pomfrey was telling us about the spell," she said. "It took me all afternoon to work out the actual variance." She shrugged and looked up at him, her eyes hopeful. "So it will work then? You're the Potions Master, I just had an idea."

He kissed her, then dragged her over to the bed and kissed her some more. She was magnificent. As much as he disliked the idea of potion-induced impotence, it was a brilliant thing that would allow them a bit of goddamned _focus_.

"I'll need to make a few changes," he said, dragging his hands up her sides and pulling the sweater with them. She had a cotton shirt on underneath, soft to the touch. "Chamomile is the more common ingredient, but Moon Moth wings soaked in syrup from a Common Nut Oak flower will have the desired effect without causing your body to react as though it's actually pregnant."

The idea of her pregnant was intoxicating, but that was just the spell. It had to be. He'd never in his life wanted children, especially since it usually felt like he already played father to a House-full of them.

"No morning sickness?" she asked, tossing the cotton shirt aside. (He'd been right; no bra.)

"No morning sickness," he said.

"Thank God for that."

He smirked and quickly shucked his clothing, tossing it all in the direction of her clothing on the floor. He wanted to taste her cunt again.

\\\

"You aren't angry I thought of the potion?" she asked later. He shrugged, resituating them. They were a mess of limbs.

He wasn't angry, but he certainly didn't want to talk about her reasoning. She was probably right about it. He just said, "I'm not angry," and left it at that.

* * *

A/N: I apologize for the wait between chapters, and apologize ahead of time because it's going to be another long gap. There's quite a bit of change on the horizon in real life (or there will be if I play my cards right), so I'm doing a lot of planning and a lot of stressing about things that shouldn't be so stressful. I come from a long line of worriers, and it's obnoxious at times like these. Anyway, I hope everybody has a lovely Easter (or a particularly pleasant Sunday, if Easter isn't part of your thing). I plan to eat chocolate, and then spend the afternoon doing my taxes. It's going to be fabulous.


	29. Chapter 29

TWENTY-EIGHT

Severus was Summoned on Christmas morning. He assured her, as he left, that it was probably just a gathering at Malfoy Manor to eat and make derogative comments about Dumbledore, but he'd held himself so carefully she couldn't help but worry.

She cleaned. Through the morning and into the afternoon, she cleaned. At first she used magic, but then she needed to keep her hands busy and she put her wand in her pocket in favor of the rags she found under the sink.

Severus returned at dusk. He stumbled across the threshold and vomited all over the rug the moment the door was shut behind him.

"Severus?"

He was paler than usual and she could see his hands shaking from across the room, but he didn't look injured. There was no blood, anyway.

"What happened?"

He stood up and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then pressed his back against the wall. His eyes were closed, and his hands were still shaking.

"I need you to say something, Severus."

"I'm alright," he croaked, waving his hand at the mess on the rug. It disappeared, but the stench of it lingered, cutting through the smell of the bleach she'd been using all afternoon.

"You look like hell."

He nodded, leaning his head back against the wall for a moment before collecting himself, standing up straight.

"Draco was punished for trying to cast that particular spell on me," he said. "It was the grand finale to… a very long day."

"Happy Christmas," she said weakly, but it didn't even provoke a smile. She set about undoing the buttons on the old brewing gloves she'd been wearing while she cleaned.

"I didn't get you anything," he told her.

"I didn't get you anything, either," she said. She left the gloves on the chair and went to him, avoiding the spot where he'd vomited. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on. He held her so tightly to him that she thought her ribs might crack.

"I need…" he said, then had to pause to collect himself. "I need to do a few things. I need you to do some things."

"Alright. What do you need me to do?" She pulled back only far enough to be able to see his face.

"I need to teach you how to Apparate. And I need to teach you how to fight."

"I know how to fight."

"You are dangerous, I know. I need to make you deadly."

"Severus…"

"No, Hermione. I need to know that you can hold your own."

"I _can_ hold my own." Some childish part of her wanted to stamp her foot, cross her arms, and flounce out of the room. She knew he wasn't belittling her, but it sounded like he was. She pursed her lips and held her temper. For the moment.

"You need to be able to Apparate because I don't think you'll be at Hogwarts long enough to sit the classes for it. You need to be deadly because they are going to try to kill you the moment you leave Hogwarts. You need to hold your own, entirely on your own, because I am not going to be able to help you."

"What _happened_ today?" Hermione asked. He squeezed her arm where he held her, comforting. She wanted to shake him off but she didn't.

"We had Christmas dinner," he said. "All they talked about was how everything was falling into place. There were Muggles in the basement—the dungeon—for sport, if any were so inclined. The Dark Lord went around the table and congratulated us each on the part we've played, tortured a few over pudding for the little failings. As I said, Draco was the finale—not only has he failed to kill the headmaster as of yet, he stepped out of line when he tried to curse me."

"He didn't _try_ to curse you," Hermione pointed out. "He _did_."

"He doesn't know that, and neither does the Dark Lord. Do you think I'd be alive if he knew you and I…"

She sighed and stepped back into the circle of his arms. "Right."

\\\

Apparation wasn't as difficult as she'd thought it would be. Severus had _years_ of memories to share with her, from when he was learning himself to the lessons he and the other Heads of House supervised each year. He could share the memory of Apparating, the feel of it.

Severus took her to the park around the corner from Spinner's End. It was a run-down thing, just a graffiti-covered slide and a pair of decrepit swings. A few Notice-Me-Not and anti-Muggle charms kept everybody away, and he coached her through practical practice. After an awkward sort of spin and a few stumbling pirouettes, Severus brought her through it Side-Along.

"'The three D's' is an idiotic idea, but it does actually help until you get the feel of it," Severus said.

She splinched herself twice.

\\\

While the Apparating was looking up, the "deadly" part wasn't going so well. He taught her spells and she did awful things to the local rat population with them, but he bested her every time in duels. They faced off again and again in the empty room Wormtail had slept in.

"You aren't even trying," he said after the fifth time she ended up on her arse.

"I _am_ ," she shot back. She wanted to hit him more in that moment than she had all afternoon. When he flicked a curse at her again, she blocked it and shot a volley of spells at him that would've downed anybody else she'd ever dueled.

"You do more damage to Ron Weasley when I set you to practicing nonverbals," he hissed.

"Well I don't—!" She cut herself off. She wasn't ready to tell him she loved him, but she did. And she couldn't really attack him, since magic all fell back to intent. She didn't intend to hurt him.

She kissed him. She went up on her toes, clenched her fists in his tee shirt, and kissed him for all she was worth. She could feel him reacting, feel the spell bouncing between them, feel her own arousal feeding off of his and into his. She toed off her shoes and reached for the button of his jeans only to fall back against the wall, hands finding his shoulders and squeezing tight. He curled his fingers into her, pushing deeper, finding the spot that made her moan.

"Thank God it was you," Severus said. He kissed her neck, her jaw, pressing her into the wall. "Imagine if it had been anybody else." He sounded almost like he was talking to himself

"I would be miserable right now," she said, trying not to imagine it. If Severus had touched anybody else after Draco had cast the spell, if she hadn't gone after him.

"You?" he asked, skeptical.

"It always circles back to this inappropriate relationship of ours," she said, sliding her hands down his chest to his wrist, holding his hand inside of her. His fingers had stopped moving, but they rested just _there_ … It was delicious torture, holding his hand still. "Would you even have told me? I'm just—"

"I would have told you," he said, leaning in, kissing her.

"Why? You don't owe it to me."

"I do. I did before and I do now."

Her heart beat faster to hear it.

"I'm not... I brew and you used to let me patch you up. I'm just—"

"You haven't been just _anything_ for months now," he said, and kissed her again.

"Severus," she murmured against his lips. In a quick move, he withdrew his hand from her and laced his fingers with hers, pinning her hands above her head, kissing her, grinding his hips into hers.

"Thank God it was you," he repeated.

* * *

Severus trailed his fingertips from the nape of her neck to the cleft of her ass and back. It was a perfect, beautiful curve. She hummed and shifted, smiling sleepily at him.

She'd said she would be miserable if he'd been trapped in the spell with anybody else, if he'd been sleeping with another woman. She'd asked if he would have told her, said he didn't owe her, but… He would have told her. He probably would have run to her right after it happened, as soon as he'd been able to get enough blood out of his cock to have a proper thought in his head. He'd always been a fool like that.

Hermione Granger was magnificent. She'd taken over his damned life, and he really didn't mind.

She was right, though, too. Theirs was an inappropriate relationship. In a matter of days, she would be sitting in his classroom again. Whatever guilt he'd felt about that was quiescent.

"We have to go back to the castle," he said, continuing to trace the lines of her back lazily. "The Room of Requirement can produce training dummies for you to practice on, I'm sure. And I can begin to brew the modified potion."

"I'll miss this," she said, and he wasn't sure if she meant the part where nobody would interrupt them at Spinner's End, or if she'd miss the arousal that was tingling along their skins, the scent of sex lingering on them even as his cock had begun to grow hard again. He'd miss both of those aspects.

"Thank God it was you," he repeated, and kissed her shoulder blade.

* * *

A/N: Taxes, check. Other shit, not so check. So updates will still be slow... Sorry.

In other news, I'm participating in the SSHG Prompt Fest over on livejournal and I need a beta for it. I've never worked with a beta in my life (as you probably already knew, since... mistakes), so this is kind of an open call (plea) for interested parties. It's just over 1,000 words, it's SS/HG, it's funny-ish. If you have the time and interest, please PM me! Thanks in advance.


	30. Chapter 30

TWENTY-NINE

Severus reentered his sitting room just in time to watch the Howler finish in a flourish of flames. He looked to Hermione, wondering what all that had been about, and saw that she was smiling.

"An expected Howler, then?"

"It might have been, yes."

He took a seat and waited for the rest of the story, because she was clearly itching to tell it to him. She had a large box on the floor in front of her, and a sheaf of papers bound up in a leather folio in her hands. She was also smirking like the cat that got the cream _and_ the canary, but she had a look around her eyes that made him wonder if she was worried about choking on that canary.

"I owled a colleague from the Department of Mysteries a few days ago asking for these notes," she said, indicating the papers in her hands. "He sent them to me. Then he must've talked to somebody, because today he sent me the contents of my desk."

"And why would he do that?"

"Well. I implied I'd been hired on again with the Unspeakables to get these notes, and I haven't been."

"So he sent you a Howler?"

"Yes. Fool me once and all that." She sighed and shrugged. "I've been blacklisted by the Ministry now."

"The Ministry is mostly idiots."

"I didn't intend to return to work there, but I've never burned bridges quite so thoroughly before."

"When the war is over, there is sure to be a large change in leadership at the Ministry," he said, because she looked oddly adrift there with the contents of her once-forgotten desk at her feet. "I'm sure you won't be blacklisted for long."

She gave him a shrewd look that made him turn away to collect the books he'd charmed to follow after him—he'd visited Poppy and the library, researching the spell Draco had used while she sorted through her mail. He knew that assessing gleam in her eye. He knew she was wondering what he thought would happen after the war, if he'd be around after the war, and, in truth, he didn't know and he didn't like to think about it. Chances were in favor of his death or imprisonment, and recently he'd found reason to hope it would be otherwise.

He sat in his usual chair, stacked his books up on the little table next to him, and started with Poppy's book.

\\\

The spell was more or less what they'd expected from Poppy's brief description. Once upon a time, it had been cast on newlyweds as they left for their honeymoons. It synced certain hormonal responses, making arousal mutual and heightened. If one was aroused, the other was aroused. And they were connected, tied; one could not orgasm without the other.

He spent more time than he probably should have being annoyed about the spell. He sat in his lab, reading and re-reading the material, while the impotence potion simmered. (The best news, or perhaps the worst, that had come out of his reading was that their modified potion wouldn't conflict with the spell. The spell wouldn't react harmfully if and when they took the potion to nullify it.) The Room of Requirement had provided a dummy for Hermione to practice on and a door to connect her practice room to his lab so he could watch her while he brewed.

He had the strangest feeling that the school, the castle itself, liked them. He'd noticed it before, little things over the past year. He'd always had an inkling that the castle was sentient, though he'd assumed it was just a human's inclination toward personification and the sheer amount of magic tied to each and every stone in the place. Now he wasn't so sure. The castle, the Room of Requirement, shouldn't have been able to create a door that led from the Room to his dungeon lab. And yet it had.

* * *

"Yes," she said, breathy. "Just there."

" _Hermione_." He got a better grip on her hips, pulling her down onto him, snapping his hips up off the bed to meet her.

"I'm—WHAT THE FUCK." She rolled to the side and dropped down on the far side of the bed, and Severus rose up to his knees as his wand leapt to his hand from the bedside table.

"FAWKES," Severus thundered, settling back onto his heels once he realized the chair in the corner of his bedroom hadn't spontaneously combusted. Hermione sat up, Summoning her own wand to her hand and looking across the room from her crouched position.

The headmaster's phoenix stared at them in his birdy way, tipping his head from side to side, then called out. The noise was piercing. It was like nothing she'd ever heard from the phoenix. Usually, he was golden song, hope in harmony. This song was worried, intense.

"What's he done?" Severus asked, standing up and striding to his wardrobe. He dressed while the bird warbled. There were no words, just a general gist of an idea. The phoenix had come because he was worried about Dumbledore. "Is he awake? Is he bleeding?"

Fawkes seemed annoyed with them. He ruffled his feathers, flipping his giant plumed tale around. His head jerked back and forth, looking them out of one eye and then another.

Severus gave her a loaded sort of look, then vanished in a swirl of phoenix flame. Hermione sat there a moment, twisting the edge of a blanket between her fingers.

\\\

It was past three in the morning when Severus returned to his office, and he looked terrible. It was bad enough that Hermione set aside the copy of _Hogwarts: a History_ she'd pulled off his shelf and the scroll she'd been re-checking against it while he was away.

"What's happened?" she asked him.

"He has days left. If we're lucky."

"Days?"

"I gave him Dreamless Sleep with bellman-weed in an unmarked bottle. He's going to drink it when things, when the pain…" He clenched his fists and glared at the book she'd been reading.

"Just in case the Vow would consider natural death a promise unfulfilled?" she asked.

"Right."

"Why an unmarked bottle?"

"So that the Order can presume I poisoned him. To win favor with the Dark Lord."

"That's madness."

"Everything is madness," he said, turning away. He walked into the lab, where the last timer on the impotence potion had just gone off. Hermione bit her lip and made her way to the bedroom, moving to sit in the middle of his bed.

The idea of him leaving the castle, of being without him, made her feel hollow. She wasn't sure it was entirely the spell, either.

She looked up when Severus entered the room. He had a goblet in each hand; the potion.

"Do you think he would agree to it now?"

"Two days ago he wouldn't have," Severus said, setting the goblets on the bedside table and sitting on the edge of the bed. "After tonight, he just might."

"Should I bring him my research?" she asked, turning to face him, legs folded beneath her. "Or would it be better coming from you?"

"I need you to put on a bra," he said, his eyes dark.

"What?" She blinked at him, nonplussed at the change of topic.

He leaned across the bed and grabbed her around the hips, pulling her close when she met his eyes. She laughed, surprised, but the laugh turned into a moan when he captured a nipple through the fabric of the shirt.

"You are very distracting," he said, pulling back to undo the buttons.

\\\

The potion didn't taste like anything. Slightly bitter, maybe. She'd expected it to be foul.

She was almost afraid to look at Severus after they'd taken it. She'd grown used to the insane rush of lust when she looked at him. What if it changed everything? What if it _had_ just been lust? What if that had been all that there was between them?

Hermione took a deep breath and raised her eyes. They'd arranged themselves on opposite ends of the sitting room to take the potion. It hadn't felt right to take it in the bedroom.

Her heart still sped up when she looked at him, and she almost cried she was so relieved. He frowned when he saw the tears, and she smiled at him.

"I still love you," she said, shrugging. She felt strangely helpless.

Severus closed the distance between them and took her face in his hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. Tentatively, he bent and kissed her. It was a simple kiss, and it was strange not to feel the rush of it, not to immediately need to taste him, to press herself into him. It still felt nice, though.

"I still love you, too," he said. Her fists clenched in his coat, and he pulled her to him. They stood there, holding each other, for a long time.

* * *

A/N: I don't want to have a protracted discussion about how her heart shouldn't have sped up or something because it's a hormonal/chemical response that shouldn't be happening if she's taking an impotence potion. It's a magic potion. Her heart can flutter with love (read that in an airy Loony Lovegood tone, "flutter with love") even when they aren't able to get worked up enough to do the deed. So there.

And I'm sorry but it's still going to be slow going on the updates. I am apartment-hunting, car-shopping and job-searching all at once. (It kind of sucks.) The good news is that the plot is about to get a lot more action-oriented, so once I get a few things settled the writing should go faster.

— M


	31. Chapter 31

THIRTY

They sat in the headmaster's office. The little trinkets whirred and chirped; a few let off puffs of colorful vapor every few seconds. There was a clock somewhere, but Hermione could only hear it.

"I still think this is a mistake," the headmaster said. He wasn't behind the desk, but in one of the comfortable chairs by the fire. He looked frail. Old in a way she hadn't seen him before. "There is a chance that it won't fall out as you expect. You will be made headmaster, and the headmaster should not be the Master of the Castle."

"There is no guarantee he would be made headmaster," Hermione said sharply. "The point is to gain an advantage."

Dumbledore scowled but didn't protest again. Severus shot her a look she couldn't decipher from his place at the lectern he'd moved to the rug in front of the fire. He was paging carefully through volume two of the Hogwarts edition of _Hogwarts: A History_. (Editions available to the public were condensed and highly edited; the Hogwarts copy held every detail that had ever been published and more, such as the spells themselves for the wards on the castle.)

"It is quite simple," the portrait of Headmaster Martin Strong said. He had a narrow face and a tall, pointed black hat with a little crook in the tip.

"That is easy to say when you are paint on canvas," Severus said without looking up. He'd been reviewing his part in the spells all morning.

"It truly is simple, Severus," Dumbledore said. "The castle wants a Master and a Warden. You volunteer, and the castle does the rest."

Severus scowled and gestured to the headmaster. Dumbledore took his place facing Severus across the lectern and they began.

All the trinkets went still and quiet as one. It was very eerie.

Then there was a jerking sensation from somewhere behind her naval, almost like a Portkey but stronger. Visceral. It spread upwards, settling behind her sternum and intensifying.

"Oh." She pressed her hand to her chest.

She hadn't considered this, but she should have. The castle would choose the person it thought would do the best job supporting and protecting the Master. She had assumed it would opt for Sprout or Pomfrey, somebody who had worked in the castle and was already loyal to Severus.

 _But I won't be here_ , Hermione thought, then leapt to her feet when she _felt_ the castle rumble a stonework equivalent of a laugh.

She could feel the castle, the conscious presence of it there on the edges of her mind. It was enormous. It was ancient. She could spend days trying to comprehend it, or she could accept it.

I AM HOGWARTS, it told her. The voice was deep as bedrock. BUT YOU MAY CALL ME CASTLE. YOUR NAME IS HERMIONE, BUT I WILL CALL YOU WARDEN.

The castle—Castle?—smiled, though she had no idea how she knew it. It wasn't as though there was a face. She had the distinct impression of a welcoming sort of grin, of teeth square like the broad flagstones in the entrance hall, of the sort of smirk that hinted at shared secrets.

AND I WILL CALL HIM MASTER, Castle said, and Hermione knew it was indicating Severus. YOU WILL AS WELL, BUT THAT IS NOT THE ONLY THING YOU WILL CALL HIM, I DON'T THINK.

Again, there was the impression of a smile. This time it was an amused, knowing sort of smile.

"Why did you choose me?" Hermione asked. It should have felt awkward speaking to a wall, but it didn't. She could feel Castle's focus, its attention.

YOU WERE THE RIGHT CHOICE.

And then it was gone.

The pressure faded from her chest, but the awareness stayed. She knew that Castle was talking to Severus, that it liked Severus quite a bit, that it was glad to have a Master, a Warden, a Headmaster and a Deputy again. All the four positions filled for the first time in centuries.

There was other information as well. She knew that Castle used the portraits and sculptures as eyes and ears, that the wards layered into the stones supplemented those observations.

Beneath the strangely sudden understanding of Castle was a wealth of information, the scope of which began to make her head ache when she tried to consider it all at once. It was barely manageable one bit at a time, one wing of the castle examined in her strange other-memory of it. For instance, she just _knew_ where the ghosts were, and the students, and the professors. She knew that there were seventeen secret passages that had been missed on the Marauder's Map, and that the librarian before Madam Pince had botched a layer of the wards on the Restricted Section when she'd recast them. The bad wards were like an itch against Castle's side, something endured because it couldn't communicate directly with the Headmaster or Deputy the way it could with Master and Warden.

"How do you feel, my dear?" Dumbledore asked. He had shifted forward to the edge of his seat, peering at her from behind his half-moon glasses as if she was a great mystery to be unraveled.

"I'm alright," Hermione said, then blinked and looked to Severus. He'd said the same exact words at the same exact time, though he didn't seem to be aware that he had. His eyes were still glazed as he communicated with Castle.

"That is normal," Headmaster Strong said from his frame. He nodded at her in a reassuring sort of way but didn't smile. "The castle is informing him of his duties, giving him a tour, so to speak. His connection with the castle will be much more direct than yours will as Warden."

"An unexpected turn," Dumbledore said, sitting back and twinkling at her as if he'd planned the whole thing. She wanted to snap at him, but he broke off into a coughing fit. She could see blood on his handkerchief before it was over.

"The curse is in your lungs?" Hermione asked, her eyes twitching toward Severus when he spoke with her again.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, easing himself backward so that he rested against the cushions again. "It won't be long now."

Hermione frowned and turned back to Severus. She was oddly aware of him, and it was different than the way she'd been aware of him before they'd taken the impotence potion. It was different from the way she'd been aware of him before Draco's spell, too. She could tell by looking at him that he was well, that he hadn't been cursed or poisoned recently, that he was beginning to be tired. She knew he didn't need anything. The Master didn't need the Warden at the moment; all was well.

It could have been hours later, or mere moments, when Severus stepped back from the lectern and sat down next to her. She'd been perched on the edge of an armchair that wasn't truly big enough for the both of them, but she didn't mind. She liked the heat of him against her side.

"Tea?" Dumbledore asked, waving his hand so that a pair of cups on saucers floated to them. Severus nodded, his eyes still focused in the middle distance as he tried to process it all. Hermione accepted her cup and sipped quietly.

\\\

Hermione woke with a headache. She was alone in Gryffindor Tower, as she had been through the break, but it still felt as if all the sounds in the castle were reverberating from inside her skull.

She was sure she'd had odd, vibrant dreams, but she couldn't remember them.

She took a particularly long shower, letting the heat of the water ease away some of the ache. Breakfast over the break was more of a brunch, especially since there were only a handful of students in the castle. No Slytherins at all—even Professor Snape had left the castle for the holidays—and she was the only Gryffindor. It made the Tower eerily peaceful.

It was almost ten when Hermione walked into the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall nodded from her place at the Head Table before turning her eyes back to the paper in her hands.

Hermione chose a piece of toast, fumbling with the jam. The pain had dulled in the shower but the sunshine streaming down on her from the enchanted ceiling was so bright it made her eyes water and brought back the ache. It burned behind her eyes and throbbed at her temples. She tried to use Occlumency to block the pain away, but that brought on a fresh wave of nausea.

Gagging, Hermione put the toast on a napkin and hurried from the Hall. Professor Snape would surely have something on hand—No, what a strange thing to think. She needed the hospital wing, not the Defense professor. If it turned out to have something to do with the Occlumency he'd taught her, or if she'd been put under some Dark curse, Madam Pomfrey would call him. And what use would it be to go to his rooms when he wasn't in the castle because none of his students were?

* * *

Severus woke to find himself standing beside his bed, wand in his hand. A cold sweat prickled across his skin, his scalp tingled, and his palms were slick. And yet there was no clear threat, no clue as to what had woken him.

"Castle?" he asked, looking from wall to wall, half expecting some manifestation of Castle's presence, though of course there wouldn't be. The grand old castle didn't need a manifestation to communicate; hell, it didn't even really need to communicate. It was like some benevolent god, surrounding them and protecting them and nurturing them without directly interfering in their affairs. That might change now that there was a Master again.

There was something else that went along with that. The Master. He was the Master of the Castle; they'd enacted the old spells the previous afternoon. Granger had looked them up in her book, and the headmaster had been convinced in light of his own failing health. They'd had tea.

The tea.

Damn the man.

Severus took two steps and was in his bathroom. There was blood down his chin and throat from a bloody nose in the night. Most of it was dry. Severus splashed water on his face and chin, wiping away the blood.

I REMOVED THE MEMORY BLOCK, Castle informed him when he looked at the mirror again, gingerly checking for tenderness. There was no physical damage to explain the nosebleed, but of course a magical entity as largely powerful as Hogwarts castle mucking about with a spell on his brain would cause a minor hemorrhage. (Or perhaps Castle had been very gentle, and it was the headmaster's memory spell to blame.)

"There was something in the tea?" Severus asked. Hermione had left a hairbrush in his bathroom, and he used it.

YES.

"Hermione?"

THE WARDEN DOES NOT REMEMBER.

"Maybe I will just kill him outright," Severus muttered. Castle didn't like the idea. Even if it didn't like that the headmaster had interfered with the Master and the Warden, it liked the idea of being short one of its four even less.

Severus dressed and left his rooms. He debated for a moment, considering going for Hermione first—she was in the library, close enough to the main desk and Pince that he suspected they were chatting—but decided to ascend to the headmaster's rooms instead.

Dumbledore hadn't moved from the chair he'd occupied the afternoon before. The fire was blazing and he was buried beneath at least three blankets, but he still appeared cold. He was so very pale, and the fingertips of his unaffected hand were blue.

"You cannot love her," Dumbledore said, shifting in his chair. The movement was weak, slow, but it seemed to exhaust him.

"Excuse me?" Severus asked.

"The girl. Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. "You cannot love her."

"Why not." It was a question, but his voice was flat.

"Love always ends in catastrophe."

"Hermione Granger is not Gellert Grindelwald," Severus shot back. He would not have said it any other day, but Dumbledore had hidden a potion in their tea and then blocked their memories. It was entirely unacceptable. The idea that Hermione was going about her day entirely unaware of—whatever the hell their relationship, their connection, was. Oblivious to him. As though he was only her professor, only the wizard she'd healed over the summer.

Dumbledore blinked. He opened his mouth a few times, but didn't say anything. He looked like he'd been slapped, and it would have been satisfying to see the infamous headmaster speechless if he hadn't looked so old and pathetic and _hurt_.

"She was supposed to be an indulgence," Dumbledore finally managed. His eyes were glazed, almost feverish. Severus wanted to loose his magic to press against the headmaster, a demonstration of power and rage that would be imminently satisfying, to finally rebel and push back… yet he was a dying old man. He looked like a ghost.

"Is that why you allowed it to happen?" Severus asked, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of his tone. "You thought it was an affair?"

"It _is_ an affair," Dumbledore said, chuckling. The chuckle quickly turned into a cough. He wiped blood from his lips before he continued. "An illicit affair between student and teacher."

Severus stood. He wanted to storm off and find Hermione, restore her memory. He didn't have a thing left to say to Dumbledore.

"You both have something to lose now," the headmaster said, interrupting Severus's exit. When he turned around, he realized that the little unmarked bottle was clutched in Dumbledore's damaged hand.

"There was always something to lose," Severus corrected.

"I forget, sometimes, you know," Dumbledore said, looking down at the bottle. He'd taken the cork out at some point. Severus wondered how long he'd been sitting there waiting for the moment to drink. "I forget that I was the one to ask you to do all this. I forget that you don't show anyone who you are."

"She sees who I am," he said. "I didn't even have to show her."

That was true enough. He'd shown her, in the end, given her the full story, but she'd _seen_ him before that. It was why he hadn't been able to keep her at the proper distance; she'd understood him, accepted him, even before she knew his whole story. She was magnificent.

Dumbledore sighed. It was a deep, heavy sort of sigh that blew out from every single year that he'd lived. A bone-weary, soul deep sigh.

"I know," the headmaster said, then swallowed down the contents of the bottle in one gulp.

"Goodbye, Headmaster," Severus said.

"Thank you, Severus."


	32. Chapter 32

THIRTY-ONE

For the first time since the Dark Lord's return, Severus was glad he'd been granted access through the Malfoy wards. Lucius had played up their friendship in the years after the Dark Lord's disappearance, gaining Ministry trust by appearing to be close to somebody Dumbledore vouched for. Now it was to Severus's advantage, for once: If he hadn't been able to Apparate to the little room off the main entrance of the Manor, he wouldn't have been able to enter. The wards around the property only allowed access to those with a Dark Mark, and his was gone.

He'd considered running for much longer than he should have. He'd considered going to Pomona and letting her secret him away with Hermione, somewhere they would be untouched by the coming war. But Hermione would never have left her friends, and, in truth, he couldn't leave the fight either.

When Castle had removed the memory block, it had gone deeper and removed all the spells he was under. All of them. The Dark Mark was gone, Draco's spell was gone, the impotence potion was gone. Even that persistent ache from the Cruciatus Curse residue that had gathered in his joints over time and exposure was gone.

Now he had to make the most dangerous gambit he'd ever attempted. He had an entirely false memory to present, a twisted version of Dumbledore's death in which the headmaster forcibly removed the Dark Mark as a reward for Severus's loyalty before succumbing to the curse.

"Severus. What a surprise," Narcissa said when he left the little anteroom and found her in the entry hall. It was early, but she was already dressed in her fine robes. "Is all well?"

"I must speak to the Dark Lord," Severus said, letting his fingers drift to the place where the Dark Mark had been. Narcissa followed the movement, cunning eyes narrowing as she tried to guess his motives.

"He is at breakfast."

"It is of the utmost importance, Narcissa."

"Very well."

Severus followed her through the house to the solarium. The Dark Lord sat in one corner, his breakfast spread across a table brought in front another room. It was an odd sight, the bright room full of greenery and sunshine, and the pale man in the corner observing it all.

"My Lord, Severus has come with urgent news," Narcissa said, stopping just inside the door.

"Leave us," the Dark Lord instructed, red eyes following her out.

"My Lord," Severus said carefully. The Dark Lord watched him, bringing another bite of tomato to his mouth and chewing slowly. "Albus Dumbledore died this morning."

"Show me," the Dark Lord instructed, a cruel grin curling across his face.

* * *

Everybody was called to the Great Hall at noon. Over the break, meals were less formal and people went in and out as they were hungry, but the Heads of House collected the few students present. The staff table was full; even the professors who had left to visit their own families had been recalled.

"Headmaster Dumbledore passed away this morning," Professor McGonagall said, her voice quivering only slightly when she said 'passed away.'

There was a moment's quiet murmur from a few of the other students, but otherwise the only sound in the Hall was Hagrid's sniffling. Hermione looked at each of the teachers, seeing reactions ranging from Filch's indifference to Hagid's earnest grief to Sprout's suspicious frown. Madam Pomfrey wasn't in the Hall, Hermione realized.

Professor McGonagall made the rest of her announcements quickly. There would be a funeral on school grounds in three days' time, when the rest of the students returned.

\\\

"Towering fury" was a pleasingly dramatic description of Hermione's mood. It had taken Castle two days to remove the memory blocks— _plural_ —that Dumbledore had put in place over the years. _Years_.

She had been curious when the first had been knocked out of place following the fight at her parents' house. Why in the world would a memory block be necessary when all he'd asked her to do was to help Harry? It hadn't made sense until Castle removed the others and she realized Dumbledore had blocked that memory less thoroughly than the others; in the event of accidental interruption, like the concussion, it would be the one to waver instead of more significant blocks.

Hermione ascended to the Head's office directly from Severus's dungeon laboratory. The staircase only existed while she was using it, and only because Castle had aligned itself to her whims in the absence of the headmaster and Master. She felt like stomping up the stairs and throwing the door open, so Castle provided her a staircase and a heavy door.

The portraits went silent. Dumbledore was behind the desk, Dippet moved to a smaller frame to one side. The other portraits had shifted around, some would have left the office for the Heads' Gallery, but she didn't investigate the changes. Dumbledore's portrait smiled and opened his mouth to greet her, but she didn't let him speak. With a flick of her wrist, she reversed the Sticking Charm that held the ornate frame to the wall, flipping the portrait so that it hung with Dumbledore's face to the wall.

None of the portraits said a word. She liked to think that it was because they'd been witness to more than a few reasons why she'd be angry with him. It could have just been because she was the Warden, though.

 _No matter_ , Hermione told herself. She crossed to the headmaster's desk and began pulling out drawers.

She found the scroll of enchanted parchment at the back of the bottom drawer on the left. The self-inking quill keyed to the parchment was in the top middle drawer hidden among many, many other quills. There were three Two-Way Mirrors hidden in the cabinet with his Pensieve, and she conjured fabric to wrap them in for safe-keeping. The pocket-size leather-bound journal was hidden deep between the cushions of the sofa by the fireplace. The little wooden chest sat in plain sight on a bottom shelf. She took the Sword of Gryffindor from its glass case on half a whim.

"Warden," one of the portraits she didn't know—or hadn't known; Castle supplied the name Chastity Prewett without Hermione needing to ask—said respectfully as Hermione passed the frame on her way to the door. Hermione nodded back without saying anything.

The scroll and self-inking quill were linked to others like it. They had been Dumbledore's means of communicating with spies far from Hogwarts; those who didn't have an excuse to see him regularly. She would be their contact now.

Each of the Two-Way Mirrors had a twin with a member of the Order: Harry Potter, Remus Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry wasn't technically a member of the Order, but the headmaster had only come into possession of his linked mirror when Sirius Black had died.

The journal wasn't a journal or diary of any sort; it was the key to the code Dumbledore used to communicate with his spies via the enchanted scroll. He'd charmed the journal years ago to appear to be knitting patterns of his own design interwoven with an old man's gibberish.

The little wooden chest was warded past the point of necessity to contain Horcruxes. The destroyed ring and diary were already inside of it.

* * *

A/N: Sorry, this chapter is mostly just a bridge to the next chapter—it was just too long to post it all as one. I should be posting the next bit this weekend. Hopefully. Probably.


	33. Chapter 33

THIRTY-TWO

There were rumors of murder. Nothing could be proven, but the professors whispered to each other in the halls. A Healer from St. Mungo's and an Auror had been in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey when Professor McGonagall was making the announcement in the Great Hall, and they hadn't left until well after dark.

Hermione paced her room in Gryffindor Tower, the things she'd taken from Dumbledore's office spread out on her bed, her mind racing. Castle eavesdropped on her behalf, telling her the comings and goings, and whatever bits of gossip the portraits or statuary overheard.

The investigation had turned up the tainted vial, and while the Ministry hadn't been able to determine if Dumbledore had been poisoned or had chosen his own death, the suspicion was there. They all knew Severus had given him the vial, and he'd left Hogwarts within hours of Dumbledore's death. The portraits in the headmaster's office confirmed that Severus had been the last one to speak to Dumbledore alive, but would not say what the conversation had been about. Dumbledore's portrait couldn't be consulted because nobody had been able to turn it around.

Hermione was worried about Severus. Professor McGonagall was convinced he was responsible for Dumbledore's death, but that wasn't what truly concerned her.

Dumbledore had prepared his spies for his death. He'd given them enchanted scrolls and quills that matched his own, and he'd given them each their own key to interpret the messages. She didn't know how he'd communicated with them, but he'd arranged the scrolls and codes for her. She'd sent messages to each of the spies, and three of them had gotten back to her. It was the responses that had set her to pacing.

Severus was no longer Marked, and he had been in and out of Malfoy Manor, speaking to Voldemort, since he'd left Hogwarts. He'd also been to the Ministry, being questioned by Aurors. Hermione didn't like not knowing what was going on; she worried about him.

\\\

Hermione woke near two in the morning. At first, she couldn't place what had woken her; Castle repeated itself.

MASTER HAS RETURNED.

Hermione threw on her dressing gown and rushed for the door. Castle opened her bedroom door directly into Severus's sitting room, which was convenient because she'd forgotten her slippers and her toes would've been freezing if she'd had to run all the way to his rooms from Gryffindor Tower.

Hermione searched his sitting room, bedroom, lab, and the loo before she found him in his office. He sat behind the desk, stacks of essays in front of him and quill in hand. A blot of red ink had soaked into the parchment beneath the quill nib; Severus wasn't paying attention. He had his sleeves rolled up, and he was staring at his bare forearm where the Mark had been.

"You could've run," she said.

"I thought about it," he said, not looking up from his arm. He'd pulled back his hair, as well. She was glad he had, because otherwise she wouldn't have been able to see the emotions flickering across his face. 'Conflicted' was an understatement.

Hermione took the quill out of his hand and Vanished the mess the ink had made on the essay. It looked like second years, if the attempt to fill the last few required inches with larger letters was anything to go by. It only took her a moment to shift the marking back and sit on the edge of his desk, situating herself so that he had to look at her. He did, sitting back in his chair and putting his hands on her knees when she put her feet on either side of his thighs.

"You remember," he said, his thumbs drawing little circles on the sides of her knees.

"It took two days for Castle to break through all the memory blocks."

" _What_?"

"He'd had me set up to take over as some sort of spymaster since the night Cedric Diggory died."

"Is that why he never— _intervened_ —between us?"

"Probably." It made her sick to her stomach to think about it. Dumbledore wanting them to grow closer because Severus was the best spy he had, and Dumbledore wanted him to trust her.

"Bastard," Severus hissed.

"I've been in contact with some of them—the other spies—since you left."

"Don't tell me about them," Severus said, beginning to massage her legs with his hands instead of just his thumbs. It felt wonderful.

"Are you sure?"

"It is best I don't know who they are. I can't accidentally give myself, or them, away if I don't know who they are." His fingers followed the line of her leg down to her calves, rubbing her ankle bones. "I am being watched very closely now, with the Mark gone."

"How did that happen? It wasn't truly Dumbledore, was it?"

"I suppose I'm glad the others are so well-placed that you already know that was my lie," he said, his smile showing in the lines around his eyes.

"Well?"

"No. That was Castle. It removed all the enchantments I was under, not just the memory blocks."

"That explains… this," she said, panting slightly. He'd continued the slow seduction with his hands, stroking her legs, now teasing the insides of her thighs. She was seconds from melting off the desk right into his lap.

"Mm," he hummed in agreement. His eyes were focused on her lips.

"Severus," she said, desperately trying to focus. "What do we do next?"

"We go to bed," he said, his fingertips finding and tracing the edge of her knickers.

"You know what I mean."

"Yes," he said. He slid his hands around her hips and up her waist, then pulled her into his lap. She didn't resist, easily folding her knees so she straddled his lap. He was hard, his erection straining against his trousers. Anticipation shot through her.

"Severus. The headmaster is dead. Most of the staff think _you_ killed him. There are rumors that a coup is imminent at the Ministry. Professor Sprout and Mr. Weasley have both given me Portkeys to use if and when I need to escape."

"How did Arthur Weasley get a Portkey to you?" he asked, incredulous.

"Sent an owl," she said. His hands had settled on her hips, and he was using the grip to help her rock back and forth on his lap. It was… distracting. "Said they were sorry to have missed me at Christmas, but they understood I needed some quiet time to myself after my parents' passing. Said I would always be welcome at the Burrow." She gasped as he slid his fingers beneath her knickers. "He hid the bit about how to activate the Portkey in the wrapping paper; it was very clever."

"Hermione," he said. His tone was perfectly even, but she only managed a whimper in response because he'd slid a finger inside of her. "The students will return to Hogwarts tomorrow morning, and then there will be the funeral. "He curled the finger, finding that particularly sensitive spot deep inside that made her gasp. "This is most likely the last night we are going to have together in a long while." She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his shoulder, angling her hips to give him better access as he began sliding his finger in and out of her. "I'd like to take you to bed."

"Please," she said, her voice a breathy whisper. She wasn't sure what she was asking for, exactly—she desperately wanted more friction (he was _teasing_ her with that lone finger), but she also needed him to carry her off and ravish her.

* * *

A/N: The second half of the bridge, as it were. Expect the next chapter on Wednesday.

And an enormous THANK YOU! This story has officially passed the 1,000 reviews mark. You people are fantastic. Thank you for all the feedback; this story wouldn't be half as interesting without your input.

— M


	34. Chapter 34

THIRTY-THREE

Hermione sat in one of the courtyards, hands buried deep in her robes for warmth as her third Warming Charm faded around her. It was too cold to sit outside, but she didn't want to go in. Professor Flitwick had been watching her all morning, giving her odd looks, no doubt thinking about her being in the castle over the summer and brewing in Severus's private lab. Professor Vector had been giving her odd looks, too, though they were a more evaluating sort of thing that made Hermione wonder what sort of arithmantic algorithms she'd been putting together. Madam Pomfrey seemed to be withholding judgement. Professor Sprout had offered twice more to help her disappear.

The students had slowly been arriving over the course of the morning. Some came by Floo; some were Apparated in by their parents. The train would leave King's Cross at eleven, as it always did, but most parents wanted to see their children safely to the castle.

Professor McGonagall said Harry and Ron would arrive later in the afternoon. Until then, Hermione was avoiding the funeral guests. They'd been pouring in since dawn; Castle informed her of each arrival.

Since she'd become Warden, there had been very few people coming and going at the school. There had been very few people around at all, for that matter. The number of people had been increasing exponentially all morning. Castle told her who had arrived, whether they came by Floo or walked through the main gate, which room they'd be staying in, and which House they'd been in when they were a student. More often than not, Castle also told her that this one had been a troublemaker, or that one had spent a night in the catacombs as a dare.

It was, in a word, overwhelming. Ideally, she'd have been able to hide in Severus's sitting room, but the Heads of House had descended for an impromptu meeting and she'd had to make a run for it. (Severus's guess had been that Professor McGonagall had gathered them all together as an excuse to snoop around his quarters for evidence that he'd killed the headmaster.) So she sat in the courtyard, letting the cold ground her as she adjusted to the insane amount of information Castle seemed to have decided she needed to know.

\\\

"This is for you," Ron said the next morning. They were in the common room, waiting for Professor McGonagall to arrive and lead them all down to the funeral. He held out a broken quill; Hermione blinked and Ron grinned at her, lowering his voice. "It's a Portkey. Dad made it."

"Oh."

"He said he sent you another one, but he wasn't sure it would make it through all the screening."

"It did."

"Oh. Good." Ron smiled and held the quill out, urging her to take it. She did. "Harry has one, too. They'll bring you to the garden shed at the Burrow."

"Thank you, Ron," she said, pulling him in tight for a hug. He started to say something about how it was his dad's idea not his, but the moment was ruined by Lavender.

"Get off of him," she sneered, pulling at Hermione's elbow. "He's _my_ boyfriend."

"Lav," Ron said, and Hermione could hear the frustration in his voice. "Hermione's my _friend_. I haven't seen her—"

"Is that how it is, then?" Lavender asked, voice rising to new levels of shrill.

"I'll just… go," Hermione said, ducking off toward Harry after giving Ron's arm one last thankful squeeze.

"What's going on over there?" Ginny asked. She, Harry, Dean and Neville were sitting together by the fire, fidgeting in their dress robes for the funeral and trying not to seem as though they were watching the drama unfold across the room.

"The usual," Hermione said. "Lavender's being dramatic."

"Don't let her hear you say that," Neville warned. Hermione smiled at him.

Professor McGonagall arrived not ten minutes later. She didn't bat an eyelash at the shouting match, just looked at the pair of them. Ron and Lavender went quiet, Ron making his way to them with red ears while Lavender sulked off towards a group of fifth years.

The walk through the castle was silent. Castle told her that the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins were already outside; even the ghosts were ahead of them. They met the Ravenclaws in the entrance hall, and then the only one left in the castle was Peeves.

It was cold and blustery, the wind whipping across the frozen lake and making the guests seated in the chairs by the bank hide in their mufflers. An extraordinary assortment of people had already filled most of the chairs, all of them wearing layers of cloaks and hats. There was a low tingle of many Warming Charms, prompting Hermione to cast another one of her own.

She spotted members of the Order, Madam Maxime, Tom from the Leaky Caudlron, and many other familiar faces. Most of them looked as though they were still reeling from the loss of the headmaster, with a few exceptions. Cornelius Fudge looked miserable. Rita Skeeter looked eager to cover the funeral of the year. Dolores Umbrige's mimed grief faltered when she met Hermione's eye and quickly looked to the front again.

They took their seats at the end of a row beside the lake. People were whispering to each other; it sounded like a breeze in the grass, though the grass was covered by last night's snowfall.

The staff was seated last. The Minister of Magic looked grave and dignified in the front row, his head angled forward as he talked softly with Professor McGonagall.

And then Hagrid brought Dumbledore's body, and there was a eulogy. The merpeople sang a song from beneath the ice that was both haunting and beautiful. Then bright white flames erupted around Dumbledore's body where it had been laid out. White smoke spiraled into the air, making strange shapes. For a moment, the smoke looked like a grand phoenix, but then the illusion was gone. The fire vanished, and in its place was a white marble tomb. The centaurs shot a volley of arrows, surprising a few shouts out of the crowd (Hermione looked down at her lap to hide her smirk when she saw Umbridge visibly flinch).

And it was over just like that. A few people lingered to bow their heads or touch the tomb, but most hurried to the Great Hall to get out of the cold. There was a feast in Dumbledore's honor, and the Great Hall had never seemed so crowded. Instead of the four long House tables, dozens of small round tables filled the Hall. Somehow, everybody seemed to fit.

Hermione ate mechanically. The press of too many people against her awareness through Castle grated on her, only made worse by the need to keep up appearances, to talk to her friends. Harry and Ron were whispering about Malfoy looking awfully pale.

Finally, _finally_ , the Hall began to clear. The first through fourth years were sent to bed, since classes would begin again in the morning. It was the sign many seemed to have been waiting for, and before long the crowd had begun to thin. Harry, who had been talking to the Minister of Magic, stormed out, followed by Ron and Ginny. Hagrid blew his nose loudly one last time, and Madam Maxime guided him kindly from the Hall.

MASTER WISHES TO SPEAK TO YOU.

Hermione looked around. She'd lost track of Severus in the crush of the crowd. He wasn't in the Hall. A careful inquiry—she didn't want to be overwhelmed with information and end up with a pounding headache (again) when they were trying to make plans—to Castle's awareness, and she stepped out one of the side doors. He was in his office again.

* * *

A/N: More soon!


	35. Chapter 35

THIRTY-FOUR

"Well?" she asked without preamble after the door had closed behind her. He sat at his desk, quill flying across the essay in front of him.

"The Board is meeting tomorrow to choose which of the Heads of House will be made Head," he said without looking up. He scrawled a jagged 'P' at the top of the essay and switched it out for a new one.

"Isn't Professor McGonagall the obvious choice? She's been Deputy for years."

"The Dark Lord has enough sway with the Board that he will instate whomever he wishes as Head, and it will not be Minerva McGonagall."

"You?"

"Yes." The essay received an 'A' and he looked up before he began marking the next one. "I was instructed to be photographed with my forearms bare at the Ministry over the weekend, and I was. The photograph will run alongside an article about how Dumbledore summoned me to him in his dying hour to remove the Mark from me as thanks for my service to him during the first war. Obviously, since I was outed as a spy in that aftermath, I have been living in hiding from the Dark Lord, glad for the protection of Albus Dumbledore and Hogwarts castle."

"I see."

"Naturally, it will be a glad day, indeed, when I am named Headmaster, and will therefore continue to have the protection of the castle's fortifications between me and those who know me to be their enemy."

"You don't think parents will worry about you being a target? Putting their children in danger?"

"The Board will think of that, too," he said, sneering down at the essay. (This one was a 'T,' and he wrote 'REWRITE BY FRIDAY' across the top of it.) "In cooperation with the Ministry of Magic, a contingent of Aurors will be guarding the children. Instead of the two or three off-duty Aurors Dumbledore allowed to linger in Hogsmeade, there will be at least that many in the school at all times, and twice that in the village."

"Who chooses the Aurors on duty?"

"I do." He set aside the last essay (another 'T,' but this time without an offer of another chance) and looked up at her.

"Well that's interesting."

"Indeed," he said. "Of course, the Dark Lord will select the Aurors he wishes the leave exposed down in Hogsmeade and those he wishes to snoop around the school. They will be spying on me as well as the students. They will even, more than likely, be keeping tabs on whichever Aurors are sent to us that aren't already under the Dark Lord's thumb."

Hermione frowned. Severus Banished the stack of completed essays to a table across the room and Summoned a stack of exams.

"Let me," she said after she'd watched him mark the first one. "They're third years, and there's a key. You can finish with the other essays."

"Very well."

He pushed the exams her way and smirked approvingly when she charmed a quill to mimic his handwriting, then he Summoned a stack of essays (seventh years, if the density of them was any way to judge it) and began.

* * *

It was nearing midnight when they finished his marking. He hated that he'd left it as long as he had (though there _had_ been good reasons for the lapse); usually, he was finished with the work within a week and could enjoy the holidays. It had been a quiet evening spent in Hermione's company, though. Pleasant.

"It's late," he said. She was staring into the fire, having finished the last of the exams (she'd marked all of them but her own class's, in the end) before he'd finished updating his grade book with all the new scores.

"Why didn't he Mark you again?" she asked, turning to pierce him with a calculating look.

"Should I go ask again?" He was defensive. She looked… suspicious. Like he hadn't played his part right.

"No. I don't mean—" She glared, then rolled her eyes. "I just mean, it's odd that he wouldn't Mark you again."

"He thinks I will be more effective without a Mark. At least for now," he said. "He hopes the Order, the Ministry, might trust me this way even without Dumbledore."

"But people already knew you had a Dark Mark," Hermione said, rubbing at her temples. "Isn't is suspicious that—"

"Yes." He lurched to his feet and began pacing the length of the room. "Yes it is."

"I suppose you can't exactly say that to _him_."

"No."

"You _could_ run," she suggested.

"And what of you? What of the school?" He stopped his pacing to glare at her. "I have a part to play."

"I know." She sounded resigned and he didn't like it.

"You should return to your dormitory. You will be missed." He turned from her to put his marking things away. The essays and exams were in the order that he'd have the classes, and his lesson plans were where they needed to be as well. He would need to buy more red marking ink the next time he was near the shops.

"Lavender has been asleep for hours, and doesn't care if or when I make it to my bed," she said. He could hear the frown in her voice. "And the Patils are leaving to stay with family in India; they didn't even come back for the funeral."

"A wise choice. Mr. Patil works for Gringott's as a liaison for Muggle parents. He's always been vocal about making connections with Muggles and Muggleborns."

"I didn't know that."

"You wouldn't," Severus said, trying not to smirk because she would misinterpret it. "He's been vocal but ineffective."

"Oh."

He finished putting his things in order and turned to her again, out of excuses. "You really should leave."

"Are you sure I can't stay with you tonight?"

He wanted to say she could. He wanted her with him, in his bed. He wanted to wake up holding her just as he had that morning. It was a horrible idea, though.

"Please?"

He pulled her to him and wrapped her in his arms. He could feel her magic hum against him, warm and comforting and sturdy. She was small and soft, and her hair tickled under his chin.

"How do you know Miss Brown has been asleep for hours?"

"Castle told me."

"You asked when she went to sleep?" he scoffed.

"No. Castle just tells me what people are doing."

"I see."

"It doesn't tell _you_?"

"No."

"That is ridiculously unfair."

Severus laughed and held her closer. He wondered if he'd be able to let her go if he were to give her a proper good-night kiss.

* * *

A/N: More soon!


	36. Chapter 36

THIRTY-FIVE

There was a strange quiet hanging over the Great Hall at breakfast on Tuesday. The Heads of House were gone, meeting with the Board of Governors in a dusty conference room near the headmaster's office.

Hermione sat between Harry and Ron, both of them reading her copy of the _Prophet_ over her shoulders. There were more articles memorializing Dumbledore, a large spread wondering at the future of Hogwarts School, and a sidebar with a photo of each Head of House contrasting the various pros and cons of each as Head of Hogwarts.

"Won't it be McGonagall?" Harry asked, as she had. She shrugged.

"It'll be Snape, I bet," Ron said when she didn't speak up. "Otherwise the Governors wouldn't be here, would they? It'd just be announced and there you have it. And you _know_ who controls the Governors."

"Malfoy," Harry said, then shook his head. "But he was in Azkaban, they won't—"

"Not Malfoy," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "You Know Who."

"Voldemort?" Harry asked. "How?"

"How does he control anything?" Hermione said, wanting to shake him a little bit. He chose the most remarkable times to act dense.

"The school governors are all Death Eaters?"

"No, Harry," Hermione said, striving for patience. "He blackmails them or holds their families hostage—"

"Or they're Death Eaters," Ron put in. Harry smirked, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"—or their finances," Hermione finished.

"Dad said he'd heard about that at work," Ron said, nodding. "You Know Who had cut off funding to projects and stopped paying a few people altogether."

"Not your dad!" Hermione said, trying to keep her voice down. It worried her, though. She hadn't thought of it even when she'd been thinking about a Ministry take-over for so long. What would happen to people who were known to be friends of Dumbledore, who were known to be members of the Order, when Voldemort was in charge? The Weasleys weren't the only ones who couldn't afford a missed paycheck, or even a pay cut.

"No. Says he's not important enough to be a target, even _if_ he's been outspoken against You Know Who and all. Tonks and a couple other Aurors on our side, though. Moody said his pension check has been 'lost' a few times in the last year."

"That's horrible," she said. Harry nodded.

Before they could discuss any further, Professor Slughorn rose and reminded them all that classes would be continuing as usual. Hermione folded away her newspaper, stuffing it in her bookbag for later, and headed to Herbology, curious to see who would be proctoring for the Head of Hufflepuff.

\\\

MASTER WISHES TO SPEAK WITH YOU.

Hermione rose from the Gryffindor table, taking one last swig of pumpkin juice as she went.

"Hermione?" Neville asked, moving his own goblet of juice to one side, presumably to keep it safe from her rush.

"Sorry. Just remembered something!" she said brightly.

"Library, probably," she heard Ron mutter as she rushed out one of the side doors.

Castle shortened her trip; she arrived at the door to Severus's office mere seconds after leaving the Great Hall.

"Thank you," she murmured, patting the nearest bit of stonework absentmindedly. She had the vague impression that she'd made Castle blush.

"Well?" she asked as she strode into the room.

"They've named me headmaster," he said without looking up. He had scrolls all over his desk, and he looked like he was attempting to make sense of them.

"As you expected they would," she said, watching him spell stacks of scrolls so that they wouldn't roll around.

"They'll make the announcement tomorrow morning."

"You don't seem insane."

He looked up from the scrolls to shoot her a glare, and she smiled.

I WOULD NOT LET HIM GO MAD, Castle said, almost sounding offended. Hermione smirked.

It was the Warden's function to protect the Master for the sake of the castle, and it seemed that Castle didn't like the implication that she thought it might do something to put the Master in danger. She patted the stone wall, mollifying Castle's proverbial ruffled feathers.

Severus raised his eyebrow at her, but she just shrugged.

"So what are you going to do?" she asked him, settling into one of the guest chairs.

"No fucking clue," he said, and scratched at the inside of his left arm where the Dark Mark used to be. He sat as well, glaring at the stacks he'd made.

"What's all this, then?"

"Curricula. Syllabi. Course requirements." He looked up at her, and she could see the dread in his eyes. "The Dark Lord expects me to make… changes."

"You could still leave, Severus," she said even though she knew he wouldn't go. He shook his head, unrolling a scroll and sorting it onto one of the stacks.

"I think I'm going to have to cut Muggle Studies completely."

"Professor Burbage has been submitting articles to the _Prophet_. They published another one yesterday."

"Pomona will have to make her disappear before she's killed," Severus said, rubbing at one of his eyebrows.

"What other sorts of changes are you looking at?"

"About what you'd expect. More Dark Arts, less Defense. And restricting what can be taught to whom, of course. Muggleborns just aren't cut out for the N.E.W.T.-level courses, you know."

"Naturally," she said, bitter.

"You should be prepared to flee," he said, looking up from his scrolls. His eyes pierced her with their intensity.

"Professor Sprout and Mr. Weasley have both given me Portkeys."

"Take Potter with you."

"He has a Portkey, too."

"But take him with _you_ , don't let him run off by himself. He'll be killed."

"Killed before he needs to be, you mean."

* * *

A/N: Apologies! I said "more soon," didn't update for almost exactly a month, and now I have this tiny little wisp of a chapter...


	37. Chapter 37

THIRTY-SIX

An Auror named Agnes Pandian took over as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher on Wednesday. She was dry as an old leaf and twice as crusty. She was obviously skilled, but it was also obvious why she was the one who'd been selected; she had a rather blunt pureblood bias. Whenever Hermione performed well, Pandian got a pinched look on her face, but those looks were almost worth it for the look on Ron's face when she heaped as much praise on him for the little things as she did Malfoy. (Harry garnered only a sort of wary approval.)

Professor Burbage went missing that same morning. She was present for her third years after breakfast, but nowhere to be found after the break. By lunch, the students were buzzing about it. Some, naturally, said that Pandian had had her shipped off to the Ministry, or that the new headmaster had killed her and hidden the body in the catacombs, but most of the upper years agreed that she'd probably seen the way the wind was blowing and done a bunk.

Hermione knew that Professor Burbage was, in fact, hiding out in Professor Sprout's office. She didn't actually leave the castle until after dinner, by which time the search had extended to her home and any other place she might've fled to. Professor Sprout didn't say where or how the Muggle Studies teacher was going to disappear, and Hermione didn't want to know.

Instead of having somebody proctor the class or finding a teacher to see out the end of the term, Muggle Studies was cancelled outright.

\\\

On Friday, Hermione received word that Rufus Scrimgeor was going to be killed over the weekend. She relayed the message to Severus who brought it to the Order.

"You should leave the school before Monday," he told her when he returned from the meeting.

"Aren't they going to do something?"

"There's nothing they _can_ do. Scrimgeor trusts the people he has around him; he thinks they can't get to him. He thinks Moody is a paranoid old man, and if Tonks were to approach him it would be suspicious."

"Kingsley?"

"He was the one who sent the warning. He was… rebuffed." Severus ground his teeth. Hermione let it drop.

"Monday, then?"

"Pius Thicknesse will be made Minister. He's a puppet."

"It didn't take as much time as I thought it would."

"No," he said, agreeing with her. "Muggleborn registration will be in the papers Monday, and it will only get worse from there."

\\\

Hermione packed her trunk while everybody was at dinner. By the time Lavender returned to the dorm, Hermione had made it look as if nothing was amiss; her trunk was closed at the foot of her bed as always, a few books were stacked on her side table as always, and her pajamas were poking out from beneath her pillow. The other girl wouldn't know that her trunk was full, or that the books on the side table were useless things she was leaving behind.

Crookshanks would have to stay behind. He'd be safe enough in the castle; he was much bigger than most of the other cats on the grounds, and he was clever enough to stay away from the things in the Forest. She pet him for awhile, cooing at him, telling him that it would be an opportunity for him and Severus to get to know one another. She realized that she had no idea if Severus even liked cats…

The real trick was getting Harry and Ron alone to tell them what was going on. She had to bring Harry with her, after all. In the end, she managed to convince Neville and Seamus to go to the kitchens to fetch them all back a second helping of dessert and only barely managed to keep Ron from running off with them.

Once they were ( _finally_ ) alone in the boys' dorm, she realized she had no idea how to even start explaining it to them.

"I'm leaving Hogwarts," she said.

"You're not serious," Ron said, the smile falling off his face when he realized she wasn't joking.

"She's serious," Harry said.

"Bloody hell, Hermione."

"Harry, I think you should come with me," she said, glancing at him and then looking at Ron. Ron narrowed his eyes at her, then slowly nodded as he thought through it.

"What?" Harry asked, looking between the two of them. "I can't leave school—I'm not even of age yet."

"It's risky," she said, "but it would be worse if you stayed."

"I can't come because…" Ron said, trailing off awkwardly.

"Because you have to think about your family," Hermione finished for him. Ron nodded, not quite making eye contact.

"What would we do?" Harry asked, running a hand through his hair. It stuck up at odd angles, and she wanted to smile at him for it. "Hunt Horcruxes? Where would we go? Grimmauld Place?"

"They'd find you. Or, at least, they'd be able to tell where you were, more or less, even with the protections on the house. You have the Trace on you, since you're underage."

"The what?"

Hermione started packing Harry's things while she and Ron explained it to him.

"Harry," she said as if she'd just thought of it, "do you still have that mirror Sirius gave you?"

"Er. Yeah. I think."

"Give it to Ron," she said.

"Right." He dug around in the bottom of his trunk until he found it. It had been at the very bottom, which explained why all she'd been able to see out of the connected mirror was her own reflection. Harry's mirror had snapped in half and one side of the broken mirror was lined with cracks. Hermione tried _Reparo_ , but the cracks remained even after the two halves had sealed together.

"Why do I need a broken mirror?" Ron asked when she handed it to him.

"So that we can talk to you."

"But I don't know what happened to Sirius's half," Harry said.

"I have it."

" _You_? How?"

"Dumbledore gave it to me."

"Oh."

The awkward silence where the boys looked at each other and then didn't ask her _why_ Dumbledore had given her, of all people, the mirror was interrupted by heavy footsteps on the stairs. Ron headed whoever it was off, sticking his head out the door, while Hermione and Harry quickly made it look like they hadn't been packing.

"Hey, Neville!" Ron said, overly cheerful. "You guys get food yet?"

"Yeah. We've been back for ages. We're waiting for you in the common room."

"Right," Ron said.

"Ginny ate all the chocolate biscuits already."

There was a scuffle on the stairs as Ron tried to push past Neville and also take Neville down the stairs with him. One of the fifth years stuck his head out his door down the stairs and shouted at them about studying for O.W.L.s. Hermione smiled at Harry and followed him out, trying not to be overwhelmed by the nostalgia.

\\\

Hermione met the boys in the common room after midnight. She'd told them to try and sleep a bit, but she doubted they had. She certainly hadn't.

It had taken everything she had not to ask Castle for a quick route to Severus's rooms. She knew (from that secondary awareness that was becoming less overwhelming) that he'd fallen asleep at the desk in his new office, and she desperately wanted to go tell him goodbye.

"Ready?" Harry asked her. His trunk was on the floor at his feet, and Ron stood next to him looking out of sorts. Hermione nodded.

"Bye, Ron," she said, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing. She wished she could do the same with Severus and Luna and a dozen other people she wasn't sure she'd ever see again.

"Bye."

It would've been too suspicious to Apparate directly out of the common room (and she didn't even want to start to try to explain being Warden of the Castle to them), so Hermione Shrunk their trunks and stowed them in her pocket, then tucked her elbows in so Harry's Invisibility Cloak could cover the both of them.

"Take care of Hedwig for me, yeah?" Harry asked Ron. Ron nodded, his eyes focused somewhere above Hermione's head and to one side of Harry's. "Maybe send her to Lupin every once in awhile? She gets bored."

"I will, mate."

"Bye," Hermione said again. Ron nodded, swallowing thickly.

It was difficult to walk and keep the both of them covered by the Cloak. Harry had had a growth spurt, and he had to hunch awkwardly beside her as they went.

"I shouldn't've packed the Map," Harry said when they had to jump behind a suit of armor to hide from a patrolling teacher. Hermione shrugged; she could've told him where every person in the castle was, but that would've only led to awkward questions.

Eventually, they made it out of the front doors. They were locked, but Castle let her through.

Hermione tried not to cry.

They followed the path through the snow and only stopped when she pulled on his arm at the main gate.

"Hold on a moment," she said. "Everything we're going to need has to be as we need it."

"What?" Harry asked, eyebrows drawing together.

"The Trace," she reminded him. "We can't do magic after we leave or they'll be able to track us."

"So where are we going?" he asked, obligingly following her through a snow drift to one side of the path so that they were hidden from view of the castle by a stand of trees.

"We'll Apparate to King's Cross and get on a train."

"Won't they be able to track us if we Apparate? And since when do you know how to Apparate?"

"It's… complicated." He wouldn't react well if she told him about Severus just now. She distracted him by resizing their trunks and started to hand him things. "Put these in your school bag."

Clothes, toiletries, a few books, everything she'd gotten from Dumbledore. She shoved it all into their bags. She wished there was time for a decent Expansion Charm on them, but dusk was already taking the light. It wouldn't be long before the Aurors on duty in Hogsmeade (already double the number there had been the week before) made their way up to the gate so that Hagrid could let them in for their midnight sweep of the grounds.

Hermione put a Weightless Charm on their trunks, then charmed them to look like Muggle pull-behind luggage so they wouldn't stand out quite so much.

"Do you have a coat, or just your cloak?" she asked him. She had a winter coat at home, but not with her at school; she had to transfigure her cloak.

"Just the cloak," he said, and she transfigured it for him. "Thanks."

"What do you think? Am I missing anything?"

He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged.

"Think, Harry," she told him. " _No_ magic after we leave."

"I can't think of anything," he said.

She nodded and they walked out the front gate. After it had clanged shut behind them, she took his arm, then spun into nothingness thinking of the Wizarding side of Platform 9¾.

"Quickly," she said, keeping her grip on his arm and urging him through the barrier. The platform was empty and creepy. There was no chance that there wasn't some form of watch on it, though. "Hurry, Harry."

"Jeez, Hermione," he said. "I'm going."

They went to the ticket counter and bought two tickets on the first train out of the station. Severus had given her all the Muggle money he had had, and she'd had her own pocket money from her parents that she'd forgotten to change over the last time she'd been to Gringotts. It wasn't much, but it got them out of the station before they saw anybody obviously Wizarding.

\\\

"Your name is Jack Hanson," Hermione said. "Say it."

"What?"

"Say 'My name is Jack Hanson.'"

"My name is Jack Hanson?"

"Say it again."

"My name is Jack Hanson."

"Good." She took his hand and put the leather cuff on his wrist, watching as it resized itself to fit perfectly. It had a badger stamped into it, but it was hard to see because the whole cuff was simple brown leather.

"What's this?" he asked.

"This is how we hide. They're from Professor Sprout," Hermione said, taking out her matching cuff and securing it on her wrist. "My name is Gemma Hanson. I'm your older sister."

"It changed your face!" Harry said, his eyes lighting up a bit with interest. "You said Sprout gave these to you?"

"And these," she said, handing him an ID card. The name on the ID was Jack Hanson, and the face matched the face the cuff had hidden Harry's behind. She had the same for Gemma Hanson.

The cuffs didn't change them that much. Harry's hair was lighter, browner, less distinctive than the usual jet black. Her own hair was darker, matching his new hair, though it couldn't tame the curls any more than she was able to herself. Their eyes were the a matching muddy brown, too; nondescript, average, unremarkable. The cuffs couldn't change the shape of their faces, but they did add an arrangement of freckles that were noticeable enough that people would claim to see familial similarities. They were very clever things.

"How…?"

"Apparently, she's very good at hiding people," Hermione said. "She's been trying to convince me to run for some time, and I finally took her up on it. On the condition that she'd hide us in plain sight so that we could do what has to be done."

"She knows?"

"No, but she agreed anyway."

"What do you mean she's been trying to get you to hide? You never told me—"

"I have secrets, Harry," she said. "Lots of secrets." She rolled her eyes at herself. "And no, I _can't_ tell you, because you never managed to learn Occlumency."

"Well, Snape—"

"Don't, Harry," she said. She wanted to tell him that Severus had done just fine teaching _her_ , and that it really wasn't anybody's fault that Harry hadn't been able to get the hang of the mind magic, what with another soul bumping around in there with his own consciousness. She couldn't tell him any of that, though. It didn't mean she would listen to him go off on Severus.

"I was just saying—"

"And I'm saying don't," she said, more sharply than he deserved. "Let's get going. We have to backtrack now."

"Where are we going?" he asked, sounding put-out. She supposed she'd put a damper on his grand adventure, shattering his independence with her bossiness.

"London," she said, holding out the ID card that listed their address as a flat not horribly far from the Leaky Cauldron.

" _Back_ to London?" Harry scowled. "That's another three hours on a train!"


	38. Chapter 38

THIRTY-SEVEN

Severus paced. It was all he seemed to do since he became headmaster. He paced his office. He paced his sitting room. He paced the corridors.

Every morning, the _Prophet_ had a new article praising Thicknesse's brilliance, his loyalty to tradition, his steadiness in a time of crisis. There were smaller articles hidden in the back pages, footnotes hinting at what was to come—Muggleborn registration (so the Aurors could protect them), Floo monitoring (for the safety of the community), and proposed changes to Hogwarts curricula (because so many proud old traditions had been lost in the modern era).

By noon, he had a headache. Always. They were the worst of it most of the time. He didn't sleep particularly well, either—that could've been from the stress, though, not just trying to play Master and Headmaster simultaneously with a Deputy that constantly tried to undermine him (Potter and Hermione's disappearance had been the final straw, and McGonagall and Flitwick were in open rebellion against him) and without a Warden. And then there were the times when Hermione was in trouble, when Castle sensed she was in danger or in pain even from the distance and wanted to help her.

THE WARDEN MUST RETURN, Castle repeated again and again.

"I know," Severus would say. "But she can't. Not yet."

He didn't see her for months. He received two letters from her, though they were hardly long enough to qualify for the term. They were more notes. Scraps of notes. A few words on a torn bit of parchment assuring him that she was still alive, that Potter was still alive, that they had had some small success.

He'd sent a note to her the day the Dark Lord Marked him again, but he wasn't entirely sure she'd received it.

\\\

If the Order was meeting, he wasn't included. He hoped that Hermione had found a way to relay information to them from the other spies. For his part, he didn't have useful information. He spent his days at Hogwarts, threatening the teachers with "restructuring" whenever they disapproved of the changes the Dark Lord insisted he make.

Term ended. He hoped he had made things sufficiently miserable that most of the students wouldn't return. Next year was going to be even more hellish.

* * *

"Hey, Mr. Hershey," Harry said politely as they passed their neighbor.

"Hello, Jack. Gemma." Mr. Hershey nodded and kept moving.

Hermione smirked and headed down the stairs first, holding the door for Harry. Things had been bumpy for a bit as Harry chafed under her instructions; they'd ended up shouting at each other more times that she would've expected. He didn't like that the only thing they were doing was reading books (and that wasn't even really _doing_ anything, according to him), and he particularly didn't like that she hadn't allowed him to go with her the few times she'd visited Flourish  & Blott's or the London Library of Magick for more books. He didn't like that they were so close to Diagon Alley. He didn't like that they'd had to get jobs to pay the rent.

After the first month, after they'd established a sort of routine, it got better. Harry worked at Starbucks. He kept his wand with him just in case, but he'd never been tempted to use it (apart from the time a whipped cream canister exploded all over him, but there had been too many Muggles around anyway). The job gave him something to do just about every day, and they'd quickly decided that he'd take on more hours and therefore pay more of the rent, leaving almost the entirety of the research to her. Hermione worked three days a week as the counter girl in a butcher shop. Together, they made just enough to cover their rent; Hermione had had to beg Fred and George for help to cover groceries and the rest.

Fred and George thought it was hilarious, the two of them living Muggle. One of them visited every few weeks, dropping by the shop or the Starbucks and hanging around until Harry or Hermione's shift ended, then walking with them a bit to hand-off the Muggle money. She'd tried to tell them she'd pay them back, but they'd told her they were taking it out of her pay so it was already her money. They gave her an official contract "to think about" for after the war; it was generous and almost exactly the sort of tinkering research she liked to do already, but she resisted for a week just for form's sake.

"I get to tell Ron," Harry said when she admitted it to him.

"You what?"

"I get to tell him you work for Fred and George."

"Harry…"

"No way. It's hilarious." He grinned. "He'll never let you live it down."

\\\

May turned into June. Hermione arranged a coded parchment and quill set for the twins to make passing information easier. They were being followed when they left Diagon Alley. They stopped visiting Harry at Starbucks, and only went to the butcher shop. It was far enough away from Harry that they could use a Notice-Me-Not on the Muggle bills and pass them to her over the counter; she removed the charm before she returned to the flat.

It was through the enchanted parchment that they made arrangements for Ron to join them. The twins waxed lyrical about their plan with the ghoul, and it made Harry laugh.

\\\

On July 31, Hermione warded the hell out of their flat. Then, she deep-cleaned the flat with a few flicks of her wand.

"Help," Harry said from the other room, though he sounded more embarrassed than worried.

"What happened?"

"I tied my shoelaces with magic."

Hermione smirked and walked into his room, then had to prop herself up on the doorframe to keep from falling over.

"It's not that funny, Hermione," he complained.

"Oh it is," she said. "It really, really is."

He's managed to fuse the laces completely together on both feet. His legs stuck out at awkward angles, and the only reason he hadn't fallen over was because he'd been sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Are you going to help me or what?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"Hermione!"

"I won't tell Ron about this if you don't tell him I work for Wheezes."

"I don't mind you telling him. This is funny," Harry said, jaw sticking out petulantly. "I just want you to undo it so I can eat breakfast."

Hermione shook her head and fixed his shoe laces for him. "You're impossible," she said. He just shrugged, grinned, and made a bee-line for the cereal.

\\\

"Alright," Hermione said at eleven, double-checking that they each had their leather wristlet in place (which was silly, because they hadn't taken them off since they'd arrived at the flat, but she still checked). "Let's go."

"Go?"

"It's your birthday, Harry," Hermione said, smiling when he perked up. "Your _seventeenth_ birthday. You didn't expect anybody to forget it, did you?"

"Well. I just thought, seeing as we're in hiding—"

"I know I've been kind of hard on you about this whole thing," she said, because she had been. She'd overheard him talking to George about how bossy she was. "But it's your birthday. You should be with the people who love you. All of them that we can manage to get together."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she said. He scooped her into a hug, making her laugh.

"Thank you, Hermione."

"You're welcome, Harry. Happy birthday."

He let her go and beamed at her.

"This is the perfect time to loop Ron in, too," she said, holding up the third cuff she'd gotten from Professor Sprout. "Don't tell Mrs. Weasley, though. She doesn't even know about the ghoul yet. Mr. Weasley is going to break it to her when they get back tonight."

"You're joking."

"You know perfectly well that _I_ do not joke."

"Actually, you work for a prank shop. You _do_ joke. You have to. It's in your contract."

"It is not."

"Is so. Fred and George told me."

"They made it up."

"They told me they have to pay you royalties for half the potions they use in Skiving Snackboxes."

"They do not!"

"They said they do."

"Utter tripe!"

They bickered about it all the way down the stairs and across the street. By the time they made it to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry was quizzing her about other product in development at Wheezes, as if she should have insider knowledge. She tried to tell him that she'd been in hiding with him and had no idea what the twins could be up to, but he wasn't having any of it. Tom behind the bar at the Leaky Cauldron just shook his head at them, two kids home from Hogwarts on the break off to visit the joke shop.

"It's closed," Harry said when they reached Fred and George's establishment. The windows were dark, spells in place to keep anybody from peaking inside. A sign on the door read 'CLOSED FOR PRIVATE PARTY.'

"Of course it's closed," Hermione said, rolling her eyes at him. "You didn't expect they'd let just anybody be about downstairs when there are fugitives having a birthday party, did you?"

"How are we going to get in, then?"

"I work here, remember?" she said, reaching out and pulling the door open. "My contract stipulates that I have 24/7 access to the shop and research facilities, just in case I get a mad idea outside regular shop hours. Unless they add new wards to the building, I can get us in."

"Nice," Harry said, stepping inside.

They took their cuffs off on the stairs up to the flat the twins shared above the shop. Fred and George were the only ones who knew what their "faces" looked like, and the goal was to keep it that way.

"SURPRISE!"

Mrs. Weasley had made an enormous cake in the shape of a Snitch. There was a stack of brightly-wrapped presents on a table by the wall. The room was decorated with little purple origami Snitches fluttering around by the ceiling. And there were people everywhere.

Hermione hadn't realized how much she'd missed _people_ until they were in the crush of it. She thought of herself as a loner, bookish and quiet, yet she hadn't been able to stop smiling since they'd arrived.

For awhile, it was all gossip and hugs. Tonks and Lupin were married. Bill and Fleur had settled in a little cottage by the sea and it was _lovely_. Mrs. Weasley was in a tizzy over the planning for Bill and Fleur's wedding ("It's _sorted_ , Mum," Bill kept saying, but she didn't seem to hear him.) Business was slowing down for the twins, but they were still in serious talks with Zonko about buying him out in Hogsmeade. Mr. Weasley had confiscated a self-heating blanket from a Muggle home last week and gifted it to his wife after they finished with it at work; she loved the thing. Ginny kept trying to find a private enough corner to snog Harry, but Fred kept finding them.

They ate, and it was delicious. The cake was decadent. The company was lovely.

Hermione missed Severus.

By the time dusk rolled around, people had begun to take their leave. They hugged Harry, hugged her, hugged everybody, complimented Mrs. Weasley on her excellent cooking, hugged Harry again.

They managed to sneak Ron out with them while Mrs. Weasley was packaging leftovers up for the twins and Bill. They said goodbye, Ron nodded to his father, and they slipped away. Hermione gave him the cuff on the stairs.

"What's this?"

"Your disguise," Harry said, attempting to waggle his eyebrows without much success.

Hermione put her cuff on instead of responding. Ron grinned.

"Wicked."

"You and Harry have the same disguise, so we've been telling the neighbors that Harry's twin is moving in with us today. We said you had an internship for the first half of the summer, so if anybody asks tell them you've been studying entomology or something."

"Enty-what-y?"

"Entomology," Hermione repeated. "The study of insects"

"No way!"

"Nobody's going to ask you questions if you tell them you were off studying bugs all summer," Harry pointed out.

"I s'pose."

"Exactly," Hermione said.

\\\

"Have you ever tried to learn Occlumency?" Hermione asked Ron one afternoon after Harry had left for work.

"No. Harry could never do it, and he's better at Defense than I am. I never thought of it."

"I don't… I'd like to try to teach you," she said. "I don't think Harry's struggles with it have anything to do with Defense _or_ with it being Professor Snape."

Ron frowned at her.

"I can tell you why I think that," she said, "but only _after_ you get the hang of Occlumency."

"Why—?"

"I have secrets, Ron. A lot of secrets." She sighed, running her hands through her hair. "I'd like to tell you some of them, because I could really use your help."

She'd had a mad foray into the Ministry of Magic when they'd found Slytherin's locket, the real Horcrux. Harry had figured it out, even if he'd cheated a bit by involving house elves. She'd had to retrieve it by herself because he had the Trace on him, and then he'd destroyed it with the Sword of Gryffindor. (It had actually thawed things between them; he hadn't resented all the book work as much when it yielded actual results.) They'd made very little progress since.

"You think I'd be able to do it?" he asked, almost shy.

"You're really good at chess," she said. "You think, you strategize. And you're a Keeper, so you can focus. I think it's worth a try."

"Alright. Let's do it."

"Right. It's probably best to sit down."

"What? Now?"

"Why not?"

"Shouldn't I, I don't know, practice clearing my mind? Do some of those weird breathing exercises? Read a book?"

"Do you want to read a book?"

"No, but—"

"Let's just try. Think about keeping me out, or think about dolphins, or think about whatever. It's more of a baseline reading, you know?"

"No. I don't." He looked decidedly panicked, and she smiled at him because she remembered the first time Severus had raised his wand and told her to be ready. She'd immediately began thinking of all the embarrassing things he could and would see, and naturally that was what he'd seen.

"Deep breath, Ron."

"Wait—"

" _Legilimens_."

* * *

Molly Weasley sent a note at the end of July saying Ron wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts for his seventh year. He had an awful case of Spattergroit and was laid up in bed. He could expect Ginny to arrive on the Express as usual. And she hoped he'd had a pleasant beginning to his summer.

As headmaster, Severus could've insisted a Healer be dispatched to verify the diagnosis. As headmaster under the Dark Lord's thumb, he should have. But he didn't.

\\\

Term began again and the student population had been cut in half. There were only three Muggleborns, all Gryffindors. They were gone by the end of September.

Alecto Carrow joined the staff to teach Muggle Studies. The Dark Lord had personally approved the syllabus, and the class was compulsory. The Muggles were studied like they were foreign creatures that crawled out of the abyss and slimed something awful when they got stuck to the bottom of a shoe.

Madam Pince left when the Ministry banned half the books in the stacks. Oddly, the Ministry officials never seemed to be able to confiscate the books, though they dispatched multiple representatives half a dozen times. Finally, one of the representatives was lost in the school for almost a week and the Ministry didn't make any further attempts. Severus was punished for his lack of cooperation, but the Dark Lord revered Hogwarts too much to want to strip the library of its contents, and he believed Severus when he told him that the castle itself seemed to be resisting.

Hagrid left during the Halloween Feast. He took Fang and his keys and walked out the main gate.

Filch was killed by werewolves on his way back to the castle after an evening in Hogsmeade. The papers reported that he'd been drunk and stumbled into the woods to be attacked by animals, but Severus knew better. (Everybody at the castle knew better.) He'd gone to fetch November's order from the apothecary since Slughorn couldn't be bothered, and Greyback and his pack had torn him apart.

The new librarian's name was Edward DaVita, and he hated everybody equally. He'd been dispatched from the Preservation Department at the Library of Alexandria, where any Wizarding librarian worth hiring was trained. He'd spent decades in his own quiet world, just him and the books. He hated that the students were allowed to touch the books. He visited Severus's office at least twice a week to request that gloves be worn when handling the tomes. Often, he left the library doors shut in the hopes that the students would just assume it was closed.

There were no Keys to Keep since Hagrid had taken them with him (and Severus pretended there wasn't a master set in his desk), but Walden Macnair was brought in as groundskeeper. Macnair thought it was beneath his dignity to tend to Hagrid's pumpkin patch or feed the school herd of Thestrals, but the Dark Lord had ordered him to do so. Severus insisted Macnair stay in the castle, more to preserve Hagrid's home than to mollify the foul wizard, but it earned him some esteem. He didn't like the way the Death Eater looked at the girls (and he had to admit to himself that the thought was hypocritical, considering Hermione).

The Dark Lord sent Alecto's brother Amycus Carrow to replace Filch. Like Macnair, he found his new position beneath his dignity, but he knew better than to protest. He worked out his frustration with cruelty, constantly reminding students that he wasn't the Squib they were used to dealing with in a caretaker. After the first few students returned to their dormitories missing fingernails, the teachers learned not to send detentions his way as they would have with Filch.

\\\

Severus spent most of his time with Hermione's cat-kneazle. The ugly thing seemed intelligent enough to know not to be seen with him, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. It followed him when he paced the corridors of the school, it waited for him at the end of his bed when he occasionally made it to his rooms to sleep. Every once in awhile, it would leap up onto his lap while he was working at his desk.

He'd never had a familiar before, and this cat-kneazle certainly wasn't his familiar, but they had an odd sort of camaraderie. They both missed Hermione.


	39. Chapter 39

THIRTY-EIGHT

"This! This is why!" Dumbledore's portrait shouted at him, as if the former headmaster had truly had any idea how the Master and Warden functioned at the time. "The Master of the Castle is _never_ supposed to be the headmaster of the school as well! I told you! I _told_ you!"

Severus spun and reinstituted the perimeter wards. Castle had taken them down, trying to make it easier for the Warden to Apparate back, to escape the torture she was undergoing.

It had been hours. It had started late in the afternoon, that sense of disquiet that came on whenever Castle was focused on its Warden, on Hermione. The tremors had begun after dinner, when she'd begun to be in so much pain that Castle couldn't stand not to intervene. Severus had been soothing it ever since, struggling to control the reaction from his office.

" _What_ is going on?" Minerva shouted, and Severus spun to face her.

"Where were you?" he bellowed, glaring. He probably looked a fright, but he didn't bloody care. He'd sent her a note an hour ago, trying to be subtle. He could've had Castle reroute her, or had a house elf deliver her. Instead, he'd sent a _note_. And then he'd been too busy to call a house elf to fetch her.

"There were—"

"Don't give me fucking excuses, Minerva!" The spells keeping Peeves from entering the classrooms wavered, and Severus quickly snapped them back into place. Castle was trying to distract him, wear him down, causing all sorts of disturbances in the hopes that he'd eventually slip and allow it to call her. "I am the Master of this castle; I can _feel_ the inhabitants move through the wards. You were in your office! You've been in your office for an hour, ever since I sent you the note."

"The forms," she said, her resolve wavering. "You, yourself, said that all disciplinary requests had to—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Minerva," he moaned. His head ached and he was bone-tired of it all. He hadn't seen Hermione in months, and she was being tortured. Yet here he was, fighting Castle tooth and nail to keep her from coming back, coming home, coming to him. And Minerva McGonagall chose now, of all times, to bring up the disciplinary forms. Again. "I understand _why_ you'd rather fill out the bloody forms than have an impromptu meeting with me, but—"

A sharp trill of awareness drilled into his temples and he spun around just in time to stabilize the Anti-Apparation Ward on the castle and grounds.

"You need to summon your Warden," Dumbledore said. "Severus—"

"I can't!" Severus said sharply, turning to face the portrait.

"She's being tortured, Severus. There is no other explanation for this sort of reaction, for the duration of the fluctuations."

"I know that."

Severus began to pace, monitoring the castle via the devices spread around the room. If Hermione were here, she wouldn't have had to look at the devices to know what was wrong; she would've just _known_. That was half the reason for his headaches—something small went wrong and chafed at his consciousness, but it took him ages to discover it and fix the problem.

"Summon her or she'll be dead!" Headmaster Alexander said from his place near the window.

"You think the castle is reacting now, boy, you just wait until you've lost your Warden. I told you, _I told you_! You should never have accepted the Mastery, never named a Warden!" Headmaster Isaacs, with his absurd monocle and curled wig, cried from the wall next to the Pensieve cabinet. Severus shot Isaacs a glare; he was mostly useless. There hadn't been a Master or Warden in his time, and he'd slept through the entire episode in which Severus had requested to be made Master. He had half a mind to banish the frame to the Gallery of Heads, and he would have long ago if Isaacs wasn't the only one who seemed to be able to recall the strange procedures regarding the particulars of certain staff contracts.

"No, it had to be done; Severus needed the advantage," Dumbledore said. Severus looked up and his eyes locked with his predecessor's. He often wondered how much this painted Dumbledore remembered of his last months of life, if he knew the desperate things he put into motion when he'd realized he was truly dying.

"Minerva," Severus said, looking to her and trying to convey his desperation with every cell of his body. "Help me. _Please_. I need your help."

"…What?" she asked, and Severus's heart quickened. She hadn't hit him or hexed him; there was hope she would help.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said from his spot on the wall, and her eyes slid over to the painting. "Minerva, I'm so sorry. Please, we haven't time for a proper explanation. Just trust him."

"Trust him? _Him_?" Minerva had never let go of her allegation that Severus had given Dumbledore the tainted potion and tricked him into drinking it. She held that it was murder, out and out. He hadn't contradicted her.

"Yes, Minerva. Trust Severus."

"Like hell!"

The castle shook and Severus swore, turning back to the devices. He'd been distracted.

"They're killing her," Headmistress Levine moaned from her gilded frame by the door. "They're killing her and she's going to tear the castle apart from the pain of it!"

"Who?" Minerva asked.

"The Warden of the Castle!"

"The what?"

"How are you even on your feet, man?" Headmaster Strong asked. "Call her to you."

"She will make it, "Severus growled, because he had to believe she would. He turned to Minerva and extended a hand, beseeching. "Minerva, please. Help me. The wards… the castle…"

He didn't know how to explain it to her quickly. The whole concept of the Master and the Warden was unique to Hogwarts, so far as he was aware. He'd been Master of the Castle for almost a year and he didn't completely understand it.

"There is no time to explain, Minerva," Dumbledore said. "Just know that it is imperative for you to do your part as Deputy. Right now."

Then, finally, Minerva stepped forward and began to help. He wanted to thank her, but there was too much to do. They'd wasted time talking.

Almost an hour went by before Castle relaxed and the wards snapped back to their usual state. Severus stumbled, gasping, and sat down on the edge of the desk. A tower of disciplinary requests, already haphazard on the edge of the desk, fell to the floor. He looked down at them and realized there was already a mess on the floor, parchments and office detritus that had been whipping around the room in Castle's agitation.

"Call her to you _now_ ," Headmaster Strong said.

Before Severus could think, Hermione arrived. She lay on her side, half curled into herself, in the center of the room. He rushed to her, drawing his wand and searching for injuries.

In the background, he registered that Minerva was talking to Headmistress Levine, but he paid them no mind. Hermione had been put under the Cruciatus Curse. There were crystals embedded in her skin, expensive crystals. Her left forearm was a bloody mess. She was malnourished and filthy.

She was _alive_.

"But these two are a bit of a desperate plan. They enacted the old spells, accepted the positions even though he'd be acting as headmaster and Master, and she wouldn't be in the castle if all went to plan. Idiot children."

"That's enough, thank you, Headmistress Levine," Severus snapped. He sat back on his heels and looked down at Hermione. He'd done all that he could. She needed Poppy, she needed proper food and rest, and she needed time.

Before Minerva could begin asking him questions (because she surely would), Hermione woke. She jerked, whimpered, screamed, whimpered again. He reached for her, touching her only with one finger. He well remembered the sensitivity of each nerve ending, how even a gentle touch could be painful and overwhelming. He touched her temple, then dropped his hand back to his lap.

"Leave it to Dobby," Hermione muttered, sitting up. She folded her knees to her chest and pressed her palms to her face, breathing deeply in through her nose and out through her mouth. It was an Occlumency technique for centering the mind, calming thoughts.

"The Malfoys' old elf?" he asked.

"Yes. He rescued us. Well. He rescued Harry and Ron—he dropped a chandelier on me."

"Which rendered you unconscious, allowing the castle to summon you to safety." It also explained the crystals embedded in her skin.

"If I'd let it pull me back, it would have given everything away. And Harry and Ron would have been in the Malfoy cellar without a lick of Occlumency between them."

"The castle almost bloody Apparated out to get you itself."

Hermione laughed, though there wasn't much humor in the noise. He wanted to reach for her again, to hold her hand, but Minerva was watching.

"I had to call Minerva in to help," he said so that she wouldn't say something she'd regret in front of the other witch.

HE DID NOT WANT ME TO BRING YOU HOME, Castle said. He could feel the frown.

"That bad, hm?" Hermione asked, moving so that she was cross-legged. She smiled over his shoulder at Minerva before returning her attention to him.

"You ought to stay on the floor," he said, sensing she wanted to stand and begin planning their next move. "You were… It lasted for almost three hours. You're going to have aftershocks."

"Yes." Her calm acceptance of it galled him.

"Who—?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange."

He wanted to scoop Lestrange's eyeballs out with a rusty spoon. He wanted to chop her toes off and use them in Iggsby's Potion, then make her drink it. He wanted her drawn and quartered. He wanted…

"You look awful," he told her.

"You say the sweetest things," she said, teasing.

"You haven't been eating."

"We ran out of wild mushrooms."

"You should have called on the castle," he said, frustrated. He knew she didn't like asking the house elves for things, but she was the Warden of the Castle and thus expected to make use of them. He knew for a fact that Neep, the head house elf, had prepared meals and packaged them in picnic baskets for her and the others every day for the past months, just waiting to be called on.

"And how would I explain that? 'Oh, I just found this roast growing in the forest. Try the carrots!'," she said, sarcastic. "You might not like them, but they're not idiots."

"Beg to differ," he said, mostly under his breath. (Because she had a point.)

"And you're one to talk. Your collarbones are _protruding_."

Before he could protest that he'd always been thin, that he was too busy to eat, that he had access to potions that supplied the nutrients deficient in his diet of late, Minerva interrupted.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"


	40. Chapter 40

THIRTY-EIGHT AND A HALF

"Poppy," Severus said, and one of the doors leading off his office opened. Madam Pomfrey was in the store room off the hospital wing, a clipboard and quill in her hand. She looked at them and gaped. "Help."

"What happened?" Madam Pomfrey asked, leaving her things in the store room and hurrying to them. Hermione wondered how many times Severus had opened doors on strange rooms before she'd grown accustomed to it. Professor McGonagall certainly didn't seem accustomed, if the gaping mouth and wide eyes were any way to tell.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Severus hissed, and it was all he needed to say. Madam Pomfrey pulled her wand out of her sleeve and began casting spells. After a few short seconds, Hermione began to feel better.

"You've had a rough go of it, deary," Madam Pomfrey said, tucking her wand away and rolling Hermione's left sleeve up further out of the way. The mediwitch produced bandages from what must have been an Expanded pocket, and began binding her forearm.

"I've been worse," Hermione said. Professor McGonagall scowled.

"Actually, you haven't," Severus said. He was still holding her, propping her up. Hermione had forgotten, had almost thought she'd been sitting up under her own strength.

"I'll be fine," she murmured, watching Madam Pomfrey work.

Madam Pomfrey had just finished the dressing on her arm when the first aftershock hit. It didn't feel as awful as when she'd been under the curse, but she was still helpless. She had no control of her limbs and they flailed and twitched, muscles clenching. She couldn't quite scream; the muscles in her jaw and throat were locked in a never-ending spasm. Severus held her loosely, letting her twist in his arms without retraining her.

Then it passed. Hermione collapsed against Severus, wishing she could just sleep for an hour. (Or a lifetime.) Professor McGonagall was crying.

\\\

Severus held her through the night. He lay with her loose in his arms, weathering the aftershocks with her. She tried to get him to go to sleep, but he would have none of it. She was glad, though she wouldn't say it.

Very early in the morning, she finally fell asleep.

* * *

Severus felt her finally go limp with sleep, but his own rest was a very long time coming. He held her. Whenever he began to drift off, his body would jerk him awake and he'd check her over.

When he finally did sleep, he dreampt of Hermione as she rose out of the bath. The water glistened on her skin, sloshing down into the tub. And the smell of lavender.

He woke at dawn, and she was still in his arms.

\\\

In the morning, she told him about what she'd been up to. She told him about working in a Muggle butcher shop, and about Potter's strange obsession with mocha frappuccinos, She told him about impersonating Mafalda Hopkirk and sneaking into the Ministry of Magic, about the Dementors at the Muggle-born hearings, about switching out Umbridge's necklace with a copy. She told him how odd it was to watch Harry and Ron bicker and fight when they wore the same faces. She told him she'd missed him.

The house elves brought her breakfast in bed, and he quickly dressed for the Great Hall. Appearances had to be kept—Minerva tried asking after her, but he cut her off sharply. Pandian wasn't a Death Eater, but she was sympathetic to the Dark Lord's cause. Carrow _was_ a Death Eater.

He had a meeting with DaVita after breakfast. The horrible man wanted the younger students banned from the library, as they were highly disruptive to the students trying to study for their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Severus all but told him he was being ridiculous, though, truly, he was improving—just two weeks ago, he'd been asking that all students were banned from the library; he had wanted the professors to check out the books necessary for their classes and be responsible for their unblemished return.

Finally, he returned to her. She was drowsing on his bed, a book in her lap. His heart thudded hard in his chest at the sight.

"Hi," she murmured. He smiled.

"Hi."

He ordered tea and they chatted about nothing, about the school, about trivialities. Then she told him about how they discovered the Taboo, about their poor neighbor Mr. Hershey who had been killed when the Snatchers had blasted through her wards and taken out an interior wall, collapsing parts of the ceiling.

"We used Mr. Weasley's tent after that. The one from the Quidditch Cup." She sighed. "Honestly, we didn't make much progress. I was just trying to keep Harry as safe as I could."

* * *

It was strange to be back at Hogwarts. There was food, for one; regular hot meals and snacks whenever the whim struck. The house elves presented her with a grand spread whenever she sat down for a meal, but at first all she could manage was the smallest portions.

Severus hovered, brewing her restorative potions and trying not to look as worried as he clearly was. Castle was almost as bad, and less subtle about it too.

On the third day, Hermione finally felt like a person again. She braided her hair straight out of the bath in the hope that it would stay contained just a little bit longer than it would otherwise, and then she set to work.

They had to get into Gringotts. That was the one thing that had come of their time at Malfoy Manor; Bellatrix Lestrange had only truly lost it when she'd thought they'd been in her vault. That meant there was something worth taking from her vault, not just the sword.

She laid out her plans and began trying to convince Severus to let her leave his quarters. She needed the library; she could go after hours when nobody would see her.

"You can't save the world when you can hardly walk," he told her, kissing her forehead. She'd walked a circuit of the room to prove him wrong, then ruined it by stumbling on her way back to her chair. He helped her back into bed. She'd lay there and listened to him go on about inter-staff politics at remote Scottish boarding schools, trying not to notice how turning her head gave her vertigo.

\\\

Castle kept her company while she convalesced and Severus worked. It told her that the staircases were on a sixteen-year rotation that only deviated when Castle's favorites were in need or somebody got close to guessing the pattern (most notably were the arithmancy teachers who liked that sort of puzzle). It told her that the portraits had a patrol schedule so that the hallways were always monitored even when the professors weren't about (though it had done little good for a long time since Castle hadn't had a way to relay troublemakers' whereabouts). The statues switched podiums every few years (during the summertime, when the few staff members in the castle weren't looking) for a change of venue.

She told Castle about her "adventures" away from school, and then it surprised her by producing the diadem of Ravenclaw. She'd just finished telling it about Voldemort's history, the way he'd taken valuable historical pieces and shoved broken bits of his soul into them.

SUCH AS THIS? Castle had asked, and then there was the lost diadem at the foot of the headmaster's overly grand bed.

"That... that's the diadem of Ravenclaw," she'd said.

IT USED TO BE. NOW IT IS… NOT.

Nothing had been that easy yet. They'd spent months tracking and plotting, finally stumbling on the story of the locket when Harry had been talking to Kreacher. And then they'd watched for almost a month, devising a way for Hermione to get into the Ministry. Then she'd had to get the locket from Umbridge and get out again…

"Thank you," she said, stunned.

She'd wished she had a way to contact Harry and Ron, not only to tell them that she'd found a Horcrux but because they had the sword. Unfortunately, they seemed to have forgotten about the mirror she'd made sure Ron had for the express purpose of keeping in touch.

Honestly.

Luckily, Castle was able to help her solve at least part of that problem. While Severus was in the Great Hall, it helped her sneak down to the Chamber of Secrets for a handful of basilisk fangs.

"I'm fine, Severus," she said upon her return. He'd realized she wasn't in bed, then where she'd gone. He'd been about to come after her when Castle had opened a door for her to return to his rooms.

"You are supposed to be in bed!"

"I _was_ in bed," she said, trying to remain calm. "I've _been_ in bed. I'm _fine_ , Severus." It was true enough. It probably wasn't a good idea to go looking for a duel or anything, but she'd managed going to the Chamber of Secrets and back without getting too winded. "I've recovered."

"You were tortured."

"No worse than you ever were, and you were always on your feet again within the week."

"That's different."

"How is it different?" she asked, _daring_ him to say something backwards and chauvinistic.

"That was just _me_. It's… I signed up for it. You didn't."

He looked so put-out that it was almost sweet.

"I knew what I was getting into, too, Severus."

"I still don't like it."

She kissed him.

"Is that the diadem of Ravenclaw?" he asked, spotting it over her shoulder when they separated. She'd set it and the basilisk fangs on the table by the door so that she'd have both hands free to tangle in his robes and hair.

"Yes."

"The _lost_ diadem of Ravenclaw?"

"Castle found it for me."

"… Why?"

"It's a Horcrux," she said. He frowned.

She stabbed it with a basilisk fang just then, before it even realized she was going to destroy it. The locket had been so awful… The diadem Horcrux screamed and then oozed. There were flashes of what might have been things the Horcrux could've tried to preserve itself with, images of Harry and Ron dead, of Severus discovered and killed horribly. But then it was over, and there was just a battered-looking tiara broken into three pieces on the table in front of her.

"It's done, then?" Severus asked, his eyes trailing her as she put the Horcrux's remains in the chest with the others.

"One more done," she said, nodding. "Now there's just the snake, the cup, and…

"Potter."

* * *

A/N: Yes, yes, amr, a bit of a rehash of the beginning and that's not what took so long for the update: I finished writing the story is what took so long. We're at the tipping point before the mad dash to the end, and I wanted all the ducks in a row before I flicked the first domino in the line. But now I'm mixing metaphors.

I have a few final edits to make, but you can expect a new chapter every couple of days from now until the end.


	41. Chapter 41

THIRTY-NINE

Hermione wasn't in his rooms, but that was hardly surprising. She was better than she had been, and Castle seemed to be indulging her. Likely, the old stones were trying to entice her to stay with these overtures.

Severus had begun to adjust to the strange peripheral awareness of the entire school. He was by no means used to it, nor did he feel like he had it under control most of the time. But he had begun to adjust. With Hermione in the castle, he wasn't getting headaches anymore, at least. And the awareness let him find her in just a few minutes even though she was in a part of the school he'd never seen before.

The Master's Gallery was a long, wide hall that didn't appear to exist from the outside. If the castle worked like any normal structure, it would've been located beyond the Great Hall looking over one of the larger courtyards. The castle wasn't normal by any means, though, and the small door hidden behind a particularly shiny suit of armor on the sixth floor should have led to a supply cupboard or something, but instead opened onto the Gallery.

The ceilings were vaulted, the walls ascending into the darkness; the weak light filtering in through the high windows (they faced the courtyard, thus any sunlight was blocked by the rest of the castle so late in the day) cast more shadow than illumination. Closer to eye-level, the walls were completely filled with portraits of Masters and Wardens dating back to obscurity. Most of the frames were empty, but he followed the sound of conversation to the far end of the hall and found them all gathered in the largest frame he'd ever seen. It was two stories tall and almost as wide, the painting inside featuring a painted courtyard on a pleasant afternoon. The frame also had the advantage of a window overlooking the courtyard's real-life counterpart, a highly-trafficked shortcut for students when the weather was decent (and sometimes when it wasn't, if a student was running late enough).

"Well met, Master!" one of the painted figures called. A burly man with a fiery red tangle of a beard and a bulbous nose. His whole head looked oddly off-kilter: the bottom half was overlarge nose and beard, and the top half was smallish ears and smooth baldness without even a bushy eyebrow to offset it all. The man grinned and waved.

"Hello," Severus said, nodding to the painted faces that had all turned to look at him. Severus looked away from the portrait (though he could've stared at it for an hour and still found something new to notice), his eyes searching out Hermione.

"Have you visited the Gallery before?" she asked him. She'd conjured a chair for herself across from the enormous frame, obviously settled in for a long conversation with their predecessors. She was pale, but there were sparks in her eyes. "There's an armory around the corner. Isn't it fascinating?"

"I have not been here before," he said simply. He wanted to kiss her, but he hesitated. They had an audience.

 _Bugger the audience_ , he decided. _They're all painted_.

He leaned down and kissed her gently, then stepped around the corner into the armory she'd mentioned. The Masters and Wardens were twittering amongst themselves. Hermione smiled sweetly after him; he could feel it.

The Warden's Armory was half as large as the Gallery, but twice as impressive. There was a place padded with brilliant red velvet for Gryffindor's sword. Next to it was a long saber on cool green velvet that he assumed was Slytherin's. In the center of the room, glinting in the light like it was on a raised dais even though it wasn't, stood a full suit of plate armor. It had the Hogwarts crest on the shoulder pieces, a golden brooch stamped with a stylized "H" holding the long black cloak in place, and a gilded half-helm.

His eyes kept drawing back to the impressive suit in the center, though the room was full of impressive things. Armor lined the walls, not suits of armor like those scattered throughout the alcoves of the school but pieces that were awaiting the day they'd be useful again. There were mail jerkins and plumed helmets, breastplates emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest, and racks upon racks of weapons. Most of it dated back to the goblin wars—one of the most famous battles of one such conflict had taken place in Hogsmeade, after all (though it hadn't been a village so much as a clear, flattish area near the castle at that point). Two-handed great swords, short swords in dragonhide scabbards, a particularly foul-looking mace that was still black from goblin blood on one side.

Absurdly, he pictured Hermione in the armor. Not the glistening centerpiece—that suit was too big and tall even for him, and the plates would be horribly restricting to movement even with practice and proper fitting—but the ring mail and a breast plate. The enchantments on the armor would keep her safe. She wouldn't have to cast half as many Shield Charms.

"Most of it is goblin-made," Hermione said. He looked over and she was standing by the place for the Sword of Gryffindor. There was a scabbard there, red dragonhide with bronze and gold embellishments.

"Ironic, really," he said, thinking again about the goblin wars.

"'Twould be _damned_ helpful against your scaly dark lordling, eh?" one of the portraits called. Severus smirked but didn't reply. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"They've been telling me about their lives," she said. She left the scabbard to walk down a row of helmets, touching visors and plumes as she went. "There were some truly horrendous fights on the grounds, and more than I'd thought within the castle as well."

She picked up a helmet with a broad, flat nose guard and put it on. It smashed her hair in around her face, reminding him of the man's beard in the portrait. The helmet's plume was Ravenclaw-blue.

"Most places have violence in their histories, if you look back far enough," Severus said.

"Did you know Headmaster Grey kept three would-be Dark wizards in the lower dungeon for almost a month when he was Head?" Hermione asked. She scratched her nose, sticking her finger in from the side so that she could reach it beneath the nose guard. She looked ridiculous. "Master Isles had to bring in the Governors to threaten to sack Grey while his Warden delivered them to the Ministry."

Severus reached up and pulled the helmet off her head. Her hair poofed up immediately. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do more, laugh or kiss her. Or both.

And then he was struck by an idea.

* * *

A quill snapped. Minerva had been doing her final sweep of the library, a nighttime habit at the end of her rounds; she hadn't expected anything but quiet stacks and, perhaps, that bastard of a librarian shelving a last book or two.

Quietly, Minerva made her way down the next aisle. There were lights on at tables scattered around the library—DaVita hadn't shut the library down for the evening yet; likely there were still professors about. It would have to be dire straits, indeed, for a student to be out of bounds in the library after curfew. (It would have to be dire straits for any but the most desperate student to be in the library at all, these days, especially over the holidays.)

Harsh breathing, almost panting. And a slick, sliding sort of noise. It almost sounded like…

Minerva went still. She'd caught sight of the last table, just on the other side of the stack. She could see it through the books, and she watched, frozen in shock.

Hermione Granger, Warden, was at what had once been her usual table before she'd fled the school. It had been months since then, but now she was back. She'd been recovering, hiding out in Severus's quarters. Minerva had assumed he'd put her up in his private sitting room or Expanded the sofa in his library or some such, but…

Miss Granger was leaning back from the table, her books abandoned. As Minerva watched, Miss Granger dropped the quill that had broken in her hand and splayed her palm flat on the tabletop, bracing…

Miss Granger's legs were spread wide, her body sideways in the chair, her head thrown back, eyes closed. She was the one panting quietly. Between her legs was a tall man on his knees wearing black; Severus without question. He had hiked the skirts of Miss Granger's robes up around her hips, one hand on her thigh holding them up out of his way. His face was buried in Miss Granger's… well, between her legs. That was the source of the slick, sliding noise.

Minerva couldn't think of a thing to say. If she hadn't seen it—wasn't seeing it—herself, she wouldn't have believed it. They'd seemed perfectly cordial when they'd discussed the Master and the Warden with her just a few days ago.

Oh, hell. What were they thinking? (And there was no doubt in her mind it was _them_ , not merely Severus no matter what people at large would probably assume.) He'd been her teacher; he should _still_ be her teacher. _What were they thinking_.

Minerva's hand covered her mouth, holding the sound in. She couldn't look away.

Miss Granger shuddered and gasped, two almost-whimpers escaping her mouth. Then she sighed, her body relaxing blissfully. Severus rose up on his knees, drawing her face to his. They kissed, deeply. Like long-time lovers. And suddenly Minerva was wondering how far back the liaison went.

Oh, for goodness sake!

Severus's elbow was still moving. He was still… she was going to…

Miss Granger leaned forward in the chair, her hands landing on Severus's shoulders, her fingers squeezing tightly enough that Minerva could see her knuckles go white. Slowly, Severus withdrew his other hand. The appendage was glossy with… He put the first two fingers in his mouth, sucked them clean. Miss Granger moaned, quietly enough that Minerva could only barely hear it, and she kissed him again.

 _I should walk around the corner right now. He's covering the line of sight; they'd be able to sort out her skirts with some dignity. And then it would be in the open, we'll discuss…_

But she hesitated, because it was Severus and it was Miss Granger. She'd barely reconciled with Severus in the days since Miss Granger had returned to Hogwarts. And Miss Granger had always been a particular favorite, even (or perhaps especially) after she'd gotten so tangled in Dumbledore's web.

Severus kissed along the witch's neck, ending at the dip of her collarbone, pausing. Miss Granger's hands stroked along his back and shoulders, carded through his hair. When he moved away, resting his head against her other shoulder, Minerva could clearly make out a bright red mark already forming up in his wake.

A soft clink. Miss Granger had undone his belt. Severus exhaled, the noise too soft to be a grunt. And Miss Granger's arm was moving. Severus rested his head on her shoulder while she… worked.

Minerva spun around and left, moving quickly and silently out of the library. She felt the distinct need to regroup.

"There you are," Pomona said, her voice a rough whisper.

"Pomona?" Minerva asked. She'd barely made it down the corridor from the library when the Herbology teacher had almost run into her. "What is it?"

"Look." Pomona shoved a special evening edition of the _Prophet_ into her hands, and Minerva stepped closer to the nearest sconce to read the headline.

"Oh, Merlin," Minerva said.

The headline was "ATTACK ON GRINGOTTS!", but the article was mostly useless. The reporter had interviewed a handful of secondhand witnesses, and stated that Gringotts seemed to "have all their players in the sky to handle this crisis."

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" Pomona asked. "Snape wasn't in his office."

"No. He's—" She cleared her throat. "He's busy."

"Busy," Pomona repeated, skeptical. Minerva nodded, lips pressing together. "Too busy to care that somebody tried to break into bleeding _Gringotts_?"

"He's—" She cleared her throat again. "With… Miss Granger."

"Well, they're going to have to cut their little _liaison_ short and deal with this. This is their show after all," Pomona said, taking the paper back. "Where are they?"

"Where are—why aren't— You _knew_ about them?"

"I lost money on it."

"You should know better than to bet against an Arithmancy Mistress, I've told you that," Minerva said, momentarily distracted by another instance of Septima taking advantage of Pomona. (It seemed to work out, since Septima usually used the money she won off Pomona to buy sweets for the staff lounge.) " _You knew about them_. _You put money on it_." Minerva frowned. "Did you bet for or against?"

"I bet for, but not until after she'd graduated."

"Oh, Merlin."

"She's nineteen, Minerva," Pomona said. "Probably twenty now."

"I'm not worried about _that_ ," Minerva said, because she wasn't. Severus Snape was many things, but he wasn't a pedophile. And he was one of very few people who she thought could compartmentalize well enough to manage a relationship with a student that wouldn't become a power-play.

"Poppy says they're in love."

"Poppy? _Poppy_ knows?"

"She told me that she told the overlord about them, too. Naturally, he already knew. He probably would've used it to rope them into something even more unpleasant than what he already had them doing," Pomona said, as bitter as Minerva ever heard her.

"How long have you known? How long has it been going on?" Minerva asked, not even bothering to come to Albus's defense. She'd learned more about his machinations in the last week than she'd ever wanted to know. She'd worked for the man for the majority of her adult life, she'd known what he was like, but…

"Not even a year, but it seems like a lifetime," Pomona said, grinning until she visibly remembered the special edition in her hand. "Where are they?"

"In the library."

"Let's go, then."

"I really don't think—"

"Poppy said he has a wonderful arse."

"Poppy _what_?"

Pomona grinned cheekily over her shoulder and led the way back into the library. Minerva gritted her teeth and followed.

* * *

Hermione smirked; she had half a mind to braid his hair.

She'd been recovering, she'd been sore and exhausted, but Severus had had that mad idea that just might work… and he'd taken her right there across the library table. Well, first they'd run all the way from the Warden's Armory to the library, then they'd pulled a dozen books and scrolls off a few particularly dusty shelves to confirm the mad plausibility of it all, and then he'd crouched at her feet and eaten out her cunt until she exploded on his tongue, _then_ he'd lifted her up and taken her right there across the library table, fucked her until all her books and scrolls had fallen to the floor. She couldn't help but smirk; it had been too long.

After, he'd gently put her clothing to rights, and then taken care of his own. She'd pushed him down so that he was sitting in her chair and stood behind him to pull his hair out his way, the way he liked it. She considered braiding it, because it was longer than she'd ever seen it, but he liked it in a simple knot at the crown of his head.

She kissed the side of his neck, just under his ear, when she finished. Then she froze and couldn't help but blush, because Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout were standing there watching them.

"What's happened?" Severus asked without so much as blinking.

"There's been a break-in at Gringotts," Professor McGonagall said, holding out a newspaper.

"Oh _shit_ ," Hermione said, looking over Severus's shoulder so she could see the headline. "They didn't!"

"I believe they _did_ ," Severus said.

"Those little _crup_ fuckers!"

"Miss Granger!" Minerva cried.

"Severus!" Hermione said, ignoring Professor McGonagall's outburst and Professor Sprout's cackles, "They're fucking up my plan!"

"I'm sure they're very sorry and won't do it again" Severus said dryly, gathering the books and maps that had been on the table.

* * *

A/N: Many thanks to disillusionist9 for letting me use "crup fuckers."


	42. Chapter 42

FORTY

Hermione had ditched the robes as soon as she made it back to Severus's rooms. They were very comfortable, but they tended to tangle around her legs when she was trying to duel. Jeans tucked into the sturdy dragonhide boots Severus had given her for brewing, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and the felted coat with good pockets.

"It's too soon," Severus said again.

"Give me a better option," she said again.

"There is none," he said around gritted teeth.

"Exactly."

"I still don't like it."

"Me neither."

They looked at each other, but both of them knew that they'd already set things in motion. There was no turning back.

"Castle?" Severus said, turning to face the nearest wall. Hermione couldn't hear the response, but there must have been one because Severus spoke again. "Will you please take away the Mark again?"

A moment later, Severus sat down. He took a moment to breathe, then meticulously unbuttoned the sleeves of his frock coat, removed it, then rolled back the sleeves of the shirt beneath. His forearms were pale and bare.

Hermione put her hand on the wall, trying to pass on her thanks without saying so. Castle acknowledged her, but didn't say anything she could hear.

"Once more unto the breach," Severus said softly.

"Hopefully for the last time," Hermione said.

He kissed her. It tasted like good-bye, but neither of them said so.

\\\

Her initial anger with the boys had faded to guilt. She hadn't told them about being Warden. She hadn't told them that she could've gotten into the vault, then had Castle pull her back out despite the goblins' security. She'd never told them, and now they'd gone and tried to rob the bank. They likely thought she was dead, too; she hadn't thought of that before.

When Ron hadn't been able to get his mind around Occlumency any more than Harry ever had, she'd given up on telling them more than the most basic of her secrets. She wished she hadn't.

THEY HAVE ARRIVED, Castle said, breaking her train of thought.

"Thank you," Hermione murmured again. She could feel them through Castle, track them across the grounds.

"Miss Granger, I wonder if I might—" Professor Dumbledore's portrait began, but Hermione rounded on him, hair crackling.

"Keep your mouth shut, you oil-based bastard, or I will face you to the wall again," she said, pointing her wand at his canvas until he shut his mouth. He didn't glare at her, but he did give her one of those disappointed grandfather looks that made her want to conjure a curtain for his frame. She resisted the urge to do so.

"She's bossy, our Warden," one of the portraits muttered.

"I like her," another said. There was a general murmur of amused agreement. Hermione ignored them and left the office, slowly making her way to the entrance hall.

The giant doors opened when she arrived. She could just make out Severus standing off to one side, a shadow in an alcove. The three figures making their way up the path paused when the doors opened, but they didn't stop.

"Geronimo. Bubble. Seventeen. Howler," Hermione said.

Narcissa Malfoy froze just as she stepped over the threshold, her arms shooting out to either side so that her hands could fist in the robes of her husband and son.

"Endgame," Hermione said.

Narcissa Malfoy sagged between them.

"Thank Merlin," she muttered. "It's over?"

"Not yet," Hermione said.

"It was you? The entire time?"

"Since Dumbledore died."

"You almost died in my home!"

"She could have ended it any moment she chose," Severus said from his spot in the darkness. The Malfoys twitched, Mrs. Malfoy releasing her men to go for her wand. Mr. Malfoy looked suspicious. Draco looked confused.

"Severus?" Mrs. Malfoy asked, not quite pointing her wand at him.

"Narcissa," Severus said, stepping out of his shadow. He held his arms out to either side, deliberately pointing his wand to the floor and away from them. The moonlight glinted off his bare forearms.

"Your Mark…" Mr. Malfoy said, his voice hoarse.

"I am Master of this castle," Severus said, his eyes firm on Mr. Malfoy. Mrs. Malfoy glanced at Hermione, then returned her attention to Severus. "Dumbledore had nothing to do with the Mark's removal."

Mr. Malfoy stumbled and would have fallen if Mrs. Malfoy hadn't grabbed a fistful of his robes again. Hermione relaxed when she saw the look on his face. She hadn't been sure about him, not entirely, but he was _relieved_. His expression said, "Thank God, there's an out!" He looked at his wife, and Hermione almost looked away to give them a moment; his face was so openly thankful to her for whatever part he hadn't known she'd been playing.

"Cissy?" he asked quietly.

"He asked my son to kill," Mrs. Malfoy said quietly. "I had to do _some_ thing."

"Mum?" Draco muttered, looking between his parents, Hermione and Severus awkwardly. He'd drawn his wand, but held it loosely in his fist.

"I have been passing information to Dumbledore's people for more than a year now," she said, almost proud. She nodded in Hermione's direction. "To her."

"But—" Draco started, but Severus cut him off.

"Tonight, we finish it. It is your choice, fight of flee." His face gave away nothing; he wouldn't influence their decision to stay or go.

\\\

Hermione found Zabini in the study room off the Charms corridor. He was with a few Slytherins and handful of Ravenclaws, all of them talking animatedly about Arithmancy. Two of the Ravenclaws were so caught up in the debate between Norse and Celtic runes in weather prediction equations that they didn't realize everybody else had gone quiet until theirs were the only voices.

Hermione repressed a wave of nostalgia. It was just so _Hogwarts_. So much her memory of the school as _school_ ; before the war. Third year, when they'd started electives, this group had included more than a few Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs as well, but they'd either dropped the class or been driven away by politics and social circles.

She'd been glad when she'd learned Blaise Zabini was Dumbledore's eyes and ears in the Slytherin common room, even though it meant that he'd been grooming the next Severus. Third year, he'd been her partner in Arithmancy and they'd got on rather well. She'd hoped he'd had the sense to stay out of it all, but if he hadn't at least he was on her side.

" _You're_ not supposed to be here," one of the Slytherins said bluntly, clearly shocked beyond the usual contempt. She was a sixth year, a girl Ginny had said wasn't so bad some of the time. Priscilla… something or another. One of the old Pureblood surnames.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at Priscilla Whatsername, then looked past her to Zabini. She held out the slip of parchment she'd brought for him.

 _Geronimo. Bubble. Seventeen. Howler. Endgame._

Zabini read it, then read it again. His eyes went wide and he looked up at her. Then he smiled.

"You can trust everybody here," he said. "And everybody but Georgie here is of age."

Georgiana Selwyn, Ravenclaw, frowned at him, but her eyes were more curious than anything else.

"How are you going to get around the headmaster?" Zabini asked.

"We don't have to," she said, not bothering to contain her smirk.

"But—"

Hermione shook her head, cutting him off. "I need you to gather the younger Slytherins. And the Ravenclaws," she added with a glance at the others. "Keep them in the common rooms. It would be better if you could get them to go to bed early, dose them or something. It will be dangerous in the halls tonight."

"What's going on?" Priscilla hissed, crossing her arms and glaring. Hermione remembered in a flash that she was a Parkinson, a first cousin of Pansy's. It was the jut of the chin as she glared that made the connection.

\\\

They shouted, and swore, and screamed. They attempted to curse him without their wands, but their spells fizzled to nothing before they'd gone more than a foot.

Hermione almost wanted to linger. She wanted to watch them. It wasn't that she didn't think Castle would contain them; it was that she liked to see them in a dungeon, these Death Eaters. They looked so utterly lost, and it was refreshing because it wasn't so long ago that she was the one that was lost.

Even with all her contacts on the lookout, she didn't know where Harry and Ron ended up after they were arrested at Gringotts. She knew they were wearing their cuffs, but that almost made it more difficult.

"Hermione," Severus said, recalling her to the moment. She looked away from the Carrows and Macnair, turning to the doorway. He'd left the room and doubled back for her.

"Right," she muttered, casting a Disillusionment Charm on herself and touching his arm as she walked by so that he'd know she'd actually followed him out.

Quickly, quietly, they cut through the catacombs. Castle spat them out near the main gate.

Voldemort was waiting for them.


	43. Chapter 43

FORTY-ONE

Severus had waited for that moment for _years_. For a decade. More.

He'd lured the Dark Lord deep into the castle. He'd brought him to the lower dungeon. He'd nodded along as the Dark Lord told him about the two young men who had been arrested breaking into Gringotts. He'd made small talk over Draco's marks.

He was surprised he hadn't found any parting words. The Dark Lord— _Voldemort_ , Tom Riddle—had ranted and raved, called him "traitor" and all manner of foul things. Severus could have said anything at all to him, could have bared the truth of it, could have smirked and cut the odious megalomaniac to nothing with the right phrase.

"I gave you _Hogwarts_!" the Dark Lord— _Voldemort_ —had shrieked, his cheek red from Hermione's fist and his eye already darkening with a bruise, and that had been his parting shot. No more 'traitor,' no more 'worse than a Mudblood,' but Hogwarts. The crown jewel. Albus Dumbledore's haven and home. The betrayal all the more sour because of Hogwarts.

" _Hogwarts_ gave me Hogwarts," Severus could have said, but he hadn't. Instead he'd closed the dungeon door and warded him in. The Dark Lord was powerful and would eventually be free of the _Incarcerous_ and the manacles, but he wouldn't be able to break through even the simplest ward on the dungeon room in the belly of Hogwarts castle when it was set by the Master of the Castle.

* * *

The papers called it the Battle of Hogwarts. It was suitably dramatic as a headline, but it was a poor description of the event.

Anybody who looked at the school that night saw the castle dark. Not a single window or path lantern was lit. The dome of the wards was a mess of light and color. Death Eaters throwing spells, attempting to break through and come to their lord's aid.

The Order of the Phoenix and every Auror known to be loyal approached from Hogsmeade, sandwiching the Death Eaters between the castle's unyielding wards and imminent violence. Many Death Eaters Disapparated before the fight even began.

The "battle" lasted less than twenty minutes. Hermione watched it from the Head's Tower with Severus on her left and Professor McGonagall on _his_ left. They stood and watched, listening to the odd instruments scattered around the room whistle and vibrate as a few Death Eaters continued to pound against the wards.

And then it was over. Twenty-one captured, four dead, and more than fifty sent to St. Mungo's.

The Order gathered in the hospital wing so they could make plans while Madam Pomfrey patched them up; they didn't seem to know what to say to Severus, or even how to look at him. Severus ignored it, as he always had.

\\\

The real battles took place in the weeks that followed.

At noon the next day, just a few hours after the Aurors had been turned away at the gate when they'd tried to "take custody of" the prisoners rumored to be held in the castle dungeons, there was a coup at the Ministry.

Hermione Flooed into the atrium with two dozen suits of armor and gargoyles as her entourage. The Order arrived around her, those with the clearance Apparating in while the others Flooed. Fred and George arrived via the visitors' entrance, their arms full of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and anything else remotely useful. Those who had been at work at their desks stood up, wands at the ready.

Later, Hermione would recall that it all just felt too _close_. The atrium was enormous, vaulted, and yet it had felt as though she had to tuck her elbows in.

Later, she would remember the exact scratching, tearing, itching noise the gargoyles' claws made against the metal of the fountain statue, the clanks and thumps as bits of it fell into the water or to the floor.

Later, the shout of spells and the screams of pain would echo in her dreams, and she would wake with the afterimage of spell-flashes on her eyelids.

In the moment, she merely survived.

The fountain had been her first thought. It had to go. It was horrible. The gargoyles saw to it without her needing to say anything.

The suits of armor had flanked her, broadswords flashing, spells chiming hollowly when they struck the metal. Severus had refused to let her go alone, but he hadn't been able to leave the castle with Voldemort trapped in a dungeon; he'd sent her a guard.

People fled. Innocents, employees, bystanders. They ran for the Floos or for the nooks and crannies around the offices where they could hide. Sometimes, Death Eaters hid as well; it was difficult to tell one from the other.

Hermione didn't want to hurt anybody too badly, since some of them were surely Imperiused.

It was madness.

Chaos.

She heard Fred and George laughing together about the time they'd charmed one of the suits of armor to sing Christmas carols in April, but she couldn't see them.

She was with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad-Eye Moody when they marched into the big courtroom on level nine. The Wizengamot was in session, Pius Thicknesse presiding and Dolores Umbridge sitting primly at her little table with the copy Hermione had made of the Horcrux still around her neck. The suit of armor to Hermione's left had lost the top half of its feathered plume, and the suit of armor to her right lurched alarmingly to one side as it walked, but they still cut an impressive figure when she approached the center of the room and the Muggle-born wizard chained to the chair.

"You have no authority—" Umbridge began to say, but Hermione Silenced her.

Thicknesse didn't bother with pretense. He released the barriers keeping the Dementors back and tried to disappear into the crowd. The wizard chained to the chair screamed, but she couldn't tell if it was because a Dementor had swooped straight for him or if it was the empty suit of armor clanging at the joints as it lifted its broadsword to break his chains.

" _Expecto patronum_!"

The cold and penetrating sadness, hopelessness, that had begun to permeate to her bones vanished in the wake of her spell. Her Patronus had been an otter before. She wondered when it had changed. (Was it when she'd fallen for Severus, as Tonks's had changed when she'd fallen for Lupin? Was it when she'd allowed herself to writhe on the floor, screaming, and refused to let Castle pull her to safety?) What, exactly, had shifted that representation of herself from the clever, gamboling otter to a freaking bear?

The bear gleamed silver, like mercury, running on all fours across the courtroom to stand up on its hind legs in front of the nearest Dementor. It roared soundlessly, jaws wide, teeth bared, and the Dementors fled.

 _A bear?_

She didn't have time to think about it.

\\\

The fight for the Ministry had been bloody. Percy Weasley died. Others, too, but Percy Weasley stuck out in her mind even years later. He'd never reconciled with his family.

\\\

On New Years Day, only a few days after the Ministry was reclaimed, the safe house where Harry's horrible family, the Dursleys, were hidden was attacked. Dedalus Diggle died before he'd even realized there was trouble. Hestia Jones called for help, fended them off, and would spend two months recovering in St. Mungo's. The Dursleys were terrified and terribly offended, but the Order had arrived in time to prevent their harm.

The Death Eaters began attacking homes and businesses, like they had in the beginning of the first war. Muggle sympathizers, known members of the Order, and those who had refused to pander to the propaganda were all targets. Sometimes, they broke a window and then vanished; sometimes, they stole into a bedroom in the dark of night and carved the Dark Mark into the headboard above a fresh corpse.

The Dark Mark was everywhere.

\\\

Severus sent the remaining children home. Some stayed, those of age and those who didn't have homes to return to, but most went.

Voldemort and his Death Eaters down in the dungeon felt like a festering cist against her awareness of Castle. Hermione spent most of her waking hours watching the dungeon door.

\\\

They found Harry and Ron on the fifth of January. That was the day the Aurors retook Azkaban.

The Dementors were gone, and most of the guards had vanished since the "Battle of Hogwarts" had been in the _Prophet_ , but that left a handful of truly vile witches and wizards in charge. The only bit of luck was that Harry and Ron still had their cuffs; the guards hadn't realized they had Harry Potter at their mercy.

Hermione visited them in the hospital wing. They looked horrible. Even worse than she had looked when she'd first returned to Hogwarts. Their cheeks were sunken, their eye sockets were bruised, their hair had been completely shaved off in Azkaban (because it was the easiest cure for the lice and fleas common on the horrible island), but their eyes glowed with hope. They'd almost run out of hope before; they'd looked so defeated when she'd last looked into their eyes (the night before they'd ended up at Malfoy Manor).

They told her, grinning, that they'd destroyed Hufflepuff's cup before they'd been arrested. She'd almost cried.

* * *

A/N: Sorry to throw another transitional chapter at you, but I had to break it somewhere and this was the best place...

If all goes to plan, the next chapter will be up tomorrow morning!


	44. Chapter 44

FORTY-TWO

Helen Granger stared at the calendar, frowning. It was January 7, and they hadn't heard from _anybody_ in two weeks. (They hadn't heard from Hermione in even longer.)

Eileen was downstairs in the kitchen. The radio was playing one of her operas, which meant she was cleaning. The older woman listened to a wizard station when she was in the mood for music, and she listened to opera when she cleaned house. Helen suspected the operas made Eileen feel sophisticated, somehow; at first she'd thought she played them because it was the only "Muggle" music she knew, but that wasn't true.

If the opera was playing downstairs, that meant Mother and Dad would be in the sitting room. Eileen wouldn't let any of them help clean. Matthew would probably be in the sitting room, too; looking at Eileen's books.

Helen went downstairs, still frowning. Two weeks was a long time. They didn't get any newspapers—would they even know if the war ended? Could it be possible the Order of the Phoenix was all dead, and they were all that was left in this strange "safe house" by themselves?

"Everything is fine," Matthew said without even looking up. She frowned at him, too.

"It's been too long," she said.

"They're busy, and they only come when they know they won't put us in danger by doing it," he said.

She sat down next to him, still frowning. Professor McGonagall had been by on Boxing Day with a larder full of food in a picnic basket. (Which was impossible, but delicious anyway.) It was January 7.

"Do you think—?" Helen began to ask, her voice hushed because she wasn't sure she wanted Eileen to hear her, but a shudder from outside the house made her voice catch in her throat.

The opera music shut off abruptly. They all looked at each other, then went to the windows.

"No, you foolish—" Eileen cut herself off with a sigh, and Helen suspected she'd been about to call them Muggles. She did that sometimes, and she didn't mean to be rude. Eileen was nice enough, if bitter. (Helen had learned very early on not to mention Hermione too much, because Eileen would eventually be reminded of her own child and then she'd be grouchy for hours. Her son was a Death Eater.) "Get away from the windows."

Eileen tugged the curtains closed, but then it didn't matter because the glass imploded. Helen turned away, her hands jerking up to protect her eyes. Her mother screamed. She could smell the not-sulfur static of magic in the air, hear the sizzle of spells whizzing close to her.

Hermione had once talked about being able to _feel_ magic. Being able to feel it, like auras around other witches and something tangible in the air where a spell had been cast. Helen had listened and nodded, wondering how she was supposed to react, how she was supposed to relate. Since Hermione had gone to that school, Helen had done a lot of listening and nodding.

 _"_ _No, Mum. An enchantment is different from a charm. It's like with potions, like I was telling you. Draughts and elixirs and tonics?"_

"Oh-ho! He's hidden the in-laws away with his dear ol' mum!"

"Whaddya think, Bella? Looks like we have a few different generations to choose from."

A snap like a whip, and the second voice shouting in pain. All the hair on Helen's arms stood on end, and she looked up, looking for her husband, looking for her parents, looking for Eileen. _Are they alright? Is there any help coming?_

Who can they even call to help? Everybody they know thinks they're already dead.

"Run." Her dad. Blood dripped down the side of his neck, and Helen had to look away. If she looked too closely, she'd see some shard of glass buried in his neck or a slice in his scalp—he'd put himself between the flying glass and her mum. "Run," he said again. His voice low, barely louder than a whisper.

"Helen," Matthew whispered. Somehow he'd gotten behind the sofa, and Helen wondered if she'd passed out. He'd been on her other side before the windows crashed in, before these dangerous magical people entered the house they weren't supposed to know existed.

"Go," he dad said. He pulled her mother back away from the wizards by her hand, slowly, like they were facing wild animals not human beings.

According to Eileen, these Death Eaters aren't human beings. They were _things_. Horrible, horrible creatures with no compassion, no remorse, no limits. (And her son was one of them.) And sometimes, Helen caught herself thinking that it was because they were wizards, because they had magic and it made them _different_ , and… Hermione wasn't like them. She had magic, but she wasn't… different. She wasn't like them.

"Come on," Matthew whispered, grabbing her by the hand once she was behind the sofa and close enough for him to do it. She clenched her fingers around his, trying to find something to root herself to reality even though the idea of reality in all this was impossible.

They made it out the door, and then something invisible, some nothing, some thing that didn't exist and couldn't exist grabbed her by the ankle and hauled her up into the air. She screamed. For a moment, she believed it would take her up and up forever, and she'd die in the outer atmosphere and the _spell_ would just keep dragging her impossibly away.

Matthew shouted, then yelped, then went quiet. Helen flailed, trying to find him, trying to see…

The woman—Bella?—laughed again. She spoke to the men with her, but Helen couldn't make out the words over the rush of blood to her head, pounding in her ears. Or was that blood? Was it footsteps? Running?

 _No. Wizards don't need to run. They can Operate. Or De-operate._ Dis _operate?_

 _They have magic. They don't need to run._

Helen barely got her hands up in time to keep herself from landing on her head when whatever spell had been holding her in the air ended. Something snapped, but she didn't much feel it. Maybe she'd landed on a twig.

From her new vantage on the front sidewalk, Helen had a clear view of her daughter. She was running; it had been Hermione's feet she'd heard pounding, crunching on yesterdays' snow.

She could also see that there were a dozen of them. A dozen wizards in black, some of them with masks, all of them with magic wands.


	45. Chapter 45

FORTY-THREE

The war ended at an Order safe house unacknowledged by neither the Muggle world nor the wizarding one. It began because there was a threat against four people who were supposed to be dead, and one who didn't know she had anybody left to care if she lived or not.

Harry Potter had gone missing.

He'd left a note on his pillow in the hospital wing and slipped away while Ron slept.

 _I think I've known for awhile now. I knew I wouldn't survive, anyway. And if I have to die so that he can he can be killed, I think it's worth it._

There was a blot over the comma before the last clause, like he'd paused to really consider if he thought it was worth it or not. He hadn't signed it, but Hermione knew his handwriting from thousands of essays looked over. Because they were friends. Because he was hopeless. Because he sometimes dotted the capital "I"s when he wrote too quickly.

Hermione hadn't been able to tell where he was. That peripheral awareness of Castle and its occupants entirely lacked her best friend, Harry Potter. She'd almost asked Castle, she'd opened her mouth, and the call had arrived.

Eileen Snape triggered her last defense. Dumbledore had given her a vase, an uninteresting bit of glassware that had been hidden in plain sight for years. She'd thrown it against a wall.

"Go," Severus said, his focus internal, his eyes glowing slightly. "We will follow."

She went.

Hermione hadn't been cleared for Eileen's wards—and it chafed that that had been overlooked, what with her entire family hidden there. She had to Apparate to the curb and run in.

At first, she saw only a dozen. They were in heavy cloaks, some of them with masks. She could smell them, which seemed utterly _odd_ even among recent events. These were the Death Eaters, the Snatchers, the loyal followers who had been on the run since the Order had retaken the Ministry. They'd been on the run like she'd been on the run. Hungry, desperate. And they were meaner for it.

She was, too.

There was unutterable perversity in Bellatrix Lestrange using one of Severus's spells on Hermione's mother.

Hermione tore through the crowd, shoving Death Eaters out of her way, snapping her wand around her when they tried to bar her path. She had the element of surprise; they stumbled out of her way, watching her run for their mad queen.

It occurred to her, as she jabbed her wand at Lestrange and cast the Entrail-Expelling Curse, that wizards had never learned to do battle properly, the way Muggles had. Muggles had armies. They had order; they had tactics. Her father loved period pieces, and rainy days in her childhood had been filled with Roman centurions in formation and platoons marching all in red. Wizard battles were more like brawls.

The Department of Mysteries had been a mad dash, both sides racing against the clock. The Battle of Hogwarts had been a roundup, a would-be siege failed before it had truly begun. The retaking of the Ministry had been pure and utter chaos.

In the snowy field beyond the safe house where her parents had been hidden for more than a year, it was a brawl. She was surrounded by enemies, and she didn't have to be wary of whom her spells hit.

And she was furious.

And she was tired.

And all the warring had made her mean.

She didn't realize there were allies on the field until a spell glanced off her blood-smeared breast plate and exploded the snowbank next to her. It was the breast plate that made her stop and look up, because she hadn't been paying attention. She'd been plowing through cloaked figures like a bull in a china shop.

She was wearing one of the ring mail jerkins from the Warden's Armory, covering her from knee to neck and down past her elbows. The breast plate covered her front and back, and it had already protected her from more than the first ricochet she'd noticed; it was scorched on one side. There was a dragonhide mantle over her shoulders, and it was probably the only reason she wasn't freezing cold out in the field. There was a scabbard on her hip; the obnoxiously red one. Gryffindor's. And Gryffindor's sword in it.

She hadn't been wearing any of it when she'd left the castle.

"Keep moving!" Tonks shouted at her as she ran past. Hermione blinked.

The house was on her right, and she lurched for it. Her ankles hurt from where she'd been bending and pivoting, fighting against the structure of the dragonhide boots she'd only ever stood still and brewed in before. Her left wrist was bloody, though she wasn't entirely sure if it was her blood or somebody else's. Her fingers were stiff with winter cold, and the tip of her nose was numb.

Like her parents' house, the front wall had been ripped away. There was glass on the floor inside like the windows had been blown in first.

Hermione had to step over Bellatrix Lestrange's body to get to the house.

She ran through the sitting room, the kitchen, the narrow hall that led to the back door. Nothing. She ran up the stairs and found a masked man cursing the stuffing out of a mattress (which seemed completely absurd, of all the things he could have been doing or looting or destroying); she Stunned him and bound him shoulder to hip with conjured rope, then tied one end of the rope to the bed and tossed him out the window to keep for later.

The house was empty. No Eileen Snape, no Mum and Dad, no grandparents.

Hermione ran back out into the fray. If anything, it had gotten worse. She wished that she had her sense of Castle off the grounds. She wished she had a way of knowing if somebody else had gotten them back to Hogwarts, if Severus had found Harry. If Harry was alive.

She pushed it all away and concentrated on _not dying_.

And then the tide began to turn. First, gargoyles and suits of armor rained from the sky. They arranged themselves in a half-arc in front of her and pushed through the melee. Broadswords struck with precision, removing wand arms from masked men and neatly avoiding allies. She didn't like to watch what the gargoyles did, their heavy stone bodies crushing as well as their pointed claws tore.

Severus arrived in a long trail of black smoke. He hit the wards like a gong, snapping them, cracking them, and dispersing them. Hermione threw up her arms and cast the strongest Anti-Disapparation Jinx over the house and field that she could.

Severus landed next to her, cloak billowing, robes flaring. She narrowed her eyes, wondering where he got off sending her ring mail and a breast plate when he didn't bother with it himself. By all rights, he should have been wearing that centerpiece plated suit with the Hogwarts crest on the shoulder pieces and the gilded helm. All hail the King of Hogwarts.

It occurred to her that maybe she should've worn a helmet. Or found a hat and charmed it to protect her. She was as scattered as if she had a head injury.

"Any sign of them?" he asked, and her stomach plummeted because that meant they weren't at the school.

Before she could answer, the Death Eaters swarmed them, shouting, cursing the traitor. They stood back-to-back, rotating slightly as they moved and cast.

His cloak burst into flame, and he threw it aside. She barely got a Shield Charm up in time and they both had to dodge a spray of cold-hardened dirt and ice when the charm deflected a _Reducto_ at their feet instead of back at the caster. A man who looked like he was probably Goyle's father ran at them, both arms stumps above the wrist from an encounter with a suit of armor; Hermione was never sure which of them cast, but he fell in a flash of green before he was within touching distance.

The snake Nagini slithered up, rearing back and striking one of the suits of armor. The fangs left large puncture holes, and for a moment Hermione thought the empty metal suit was bleeding. Her heart leapt to her throat, imagining somebody had been in the suit the way she'd ended up in the ring mail. But it was just the snake's mouth bleeding from the sharp edges; it didn't try to bite the armor again.

 _The last Horcrux_ , her traitorous mind whispered.

Before she'd thought about it, she'd stepped away from Severus. The Sword of Gryffindor was easy in her hand. The blade was too long for her, but she didn't know how to fight with it anyway.

The snake lunged for her, sure of its deadliness, or perhaps mindless with its master so far away. Hermione jerked back, mostly involuntarily, but that gave her the space she needed to swing the sword around and smack the cutting edge of the blade into the snake.

It stuck. She hadn't sliced cleanly; she'd caught it in the nose.

The snake fell to the ground, writhing, the tail end of it lashing out at her ineffectively. Something hit her back, making the armor across her shoulder blades heat up uncomfortably and pushing her forward a step. She grimaced and braced her foot just behind the snake's skull, jerking the blade free.

When she stabbed it, the Horcrux screamed like the diadem had, dissipating in an oily burst of steamed air. The snake's body twitched, its nervous system firing and misfiring as it died. She'd struck the Sword between its eyes and through the head into the snow below.

Red-black blood leaked out of Nagini, turning the snow pink. Hermione gagged and yanked the sword free, struggling for a moment to get it back in the scabbard. It was too long for her arms to properly—


	46. Chapter 46

FORTY-FOUR

Hermione floated out of a fever-dream and felt like she was drowning. She flailed, her hands clenching and grasping, and then somebody helped her turn on her side.

Her lungs were full of water. Or pus. Watery pus. Sludge and gunk. Ooze.

There was pain.

\\\

Her mother was crying. And Ginny. Ginny was crying, too.

Strange.

\\\

She was choking. Her head ached. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't see, she couldn't—

\\\

Hermione dreamed of the sixth of January. Early morning, almost pre-dawn. That had been the day before the attack on the safe house, the fight in the field, the bloody Sword of Gryffindor getting caught on the lip of its scabbard.

On January 6, they had taken Voldemort and the Death Eaters out of the dungeons and brought them to the holding cells of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The Ministry had been deserted; nobody had known about the transfer, especially not considering the very public turning-away of the Aurors from Hogwarts when they'd tried to collect the prisoners before.

They'd brought the Death Eaters first. Hermione and Severus had Side-Along Apparated them from Hogwarts to the Ministry one at a time. Ron, Harry, McGonagall. Everybody had stood there to see them off, and the Aurors and Hit Wizards had all been waiting on the other side. Severus had taken Voldemort Side-Along to the Ministry, and Hermione had walked just behind as they made their way from the Apparation point in the atrium to the holding cells in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Voldemort had been Silenced, but that hadn't stopped his mouth from flapping. He'd looked absurd, shouting himself raw in complete silence.

The Death Eaters had been gagged, and they'd occasionally grunted or shouted in protest, but the fight had gone out of them in their days as captives of the castle.

Each Death Eater had had a Hit Wizard as escort. Voldemort had had six of them. Then then there were the Aurors standing guard at each doorway and turn of the hallway on the way.

It was anticlimactic, really. The worst Dark wizard they were (statistically) likely to encounter in their lives, and he ended up looking surly and a bit hungry as he stood behind the bars and the shimmer of the wards. There had been no grand escape attempt. No last maneuver.

She woke in a old sweat, her heart racing. She knew that she was back at Hogwarts; her head was too full for her to be anyplace else.

"What happened?" she asked without opening her eyes. The low, mostly indistinct conversations around her cut off.

"How do you feel?" That was her mother.

"What happened?" Hermione repeated, opening her eyes and looking around.

She was near the entrance to the hospital wing, her parents and grandparents sitting in chairs to either side of her bed. There were other occupied beds with their own concerned family members and friends up and down the ward, but she couldn't make out who was in the beds and who was beside them beyond Ron laying in the bed next to hers.

"We thought we'd lost you," Grandma said. Mum and Dad nodded. Grandpa sat and looked at her, stony-faced, eyes sharp.

"What happened?" she asked for a third time.

"Hermione you're awake!" Fred said. Or maybe it was George. She could usually tell them apart, but not this time. "Hey! She's awake!"

In short order, her bed was surrounded by friends and familiar faces. They sort of blurred together. She blinked, and they were more vague color-shapes than anything else.

\\\

Time slipped around her. Like a slipstream.

No. More like an undertow. Time was rushing past and she'd been pulled down by the undertow. Bogged. Weighted.

Swept away into darkness and the cushion of her hospital wing mattress.

\\\

"Severus?" she asked the dark.

The dark didn't have anything to say.

\\\

Her head hurt.

* * *

Severus hadn't washed the war off him yet. That's what Poppy told him, anyway. Again and again. "Go wash the war off you." Like a war was something that just came out. Like dirt. Or blood.

His fingernails were filthy.

"Severus?" Hermione asked again. He knew better than to think that she was coherent, that she knew she was asking for him.

The first time it had happened, he'd sat forward and everybody had gone quiet. He'd used a finger to loop a curl behind her ear, out of her face, and expected her eyes to open. He'd told her he was there.

She hadn't opened her eyes.

For hours, she'd been asking for him. Saying his name. Twice, she'd screamed for him like she thought he might be dead.

Her fingernails were as filthy as his.

\\\

The hospital wing was too busy. Too many people, too much noise. He didn't notice it, really. When she called out, they'd all go quiet. That was when he noticed it.

George Weasley was in the bed directly across from Hermione. His twin sat beside him. At first, it had been a vigil like Severus's, but then George had opened his eyes. They talked quietly, murmuring about their store or Diagon Alley, about family.

Dean Thomas banged into the ward sometime after the sconces had lit, shouting about Voldemort.

"He's dead! Voldemort's dead!" he said, standing right inside the door and looking at everybody like he expected them to put up a cheer. The mediwizards and Healers on loan from St. Mungo's didn't bat an eye, and most of the rest were too ill to notice him. Severus just blinked. He'd turned the Dark Lord over to Ministry custody what felt like a lifetime ago; there were still children in the castle, it was no place to be imprisoning a genocidal maniac.

"Somebody broke into his cell and stabbed him with a fang," Thomas said, a bit deflated at the lack of enthusiasm in the room. "A basilisk fang."

The Weasley twins' murmuring increased in tempo, but was too quiet for Severus to hear.

"Why isn't she waking up?" Mrs. Granger asked. Severus looked across to Hermione's mother.

"What?" The word came out of his mouth half a croak.

"What's the point of _magic_ if it can't wake her up?"

Severus blinked, looked back at the doorway where Thomas had already left, and then returned his attention to Hermione. He heard his mother murmur something about how magic didn't really work like that. Not always.

He wished they'd all go away, but he didn't care enough to tell them so.

\\\

"Where's Harry?" Ron Weasley asked again from the bed beside Hermione's. His mother soothed him, stroking his hand, murmuring quiet things.

\\\

Zabini came in to be checked out. A mediwitch had him stand next to Hermione's bed while she took a diagnostic reading and shone wandlight in his eyes. Zabini talked while he waited for the witch to return with the potion for his concussion.

"McGonagall's been giving statements," he said. "They're saying the war's over now, you know. Officially."

"Hm," he said, because Zabini was talking to him. The others were listening, of course, but his Slytherin looked him in the eye when he talked. Like he was making a report.

"She's told them about you two. The Master and the Warden." He grinned. Even beneath the grime of the fight, his grin was charming and rakish. Severus thought of all those husbands his mother had gone through. "And somebody leaked about you spying again. And her spy-mastering, too. You're grand heroes."

"Grand," Severus echoed. He would've rolled his eyes, but he didn't care enough.

\\\

"How is she?" Neville Longbottom asked. He stood at the foot of Hermione's bed and didn't even stutter, didn't look away, didn't hesitate.

Clawing through a war makes intimidating teachers less frightening.

Severus wondered what Longbottom's boggart would be now.

"She's in and out," Mr. Granger said. He'd taken his wife's place in the chair at the head of the bed, across from Severus. Mrs. Granger was with her parents. He wasn't sure where they'd gone.

Longbottom nodded as if "she's in and out" meant something.

"Bellatrix Lestrange is dead," he said, turning his attention back to Severus. There was a strange steadiness, peacefulness in his tone. It sent an unpleasant chill up Severus's spine. "She died with her guts in her hands."

Longbottom held his hands out in front of him, miming.

"Hey, Neville, you seen Harry?" Weasley asked from the other bed.

"No," Longbottom said. "Not since before the fight."

"Where is he?" Weasley asked, looking at Severus like he'd be able to tell.

If he was in the castle, Severus _would_ have been able to tell. But he wasn't in the castle.


	47. Chapter 47

FORTY-FIVE

"Severus?" Hermione asked. She'd opened her eyes and he'd been there. Right there. She'd blinked, and he'd been gone.

"They made him go and eat," Grandpa said. He sat next to the head of her bed. Mum was there, too, but she was asleep half-sprawled on the foot of the bed.

"How long have I been here?"

"Not quite a day."

It felt like longer, but she didn't say so.

"Dad? Grandma?"

"Sleeping. There are cots set up in a spare classroom."

Hermione nodded. Castle had told her where they were and how long they'd been there before she'd even finished asking.

"Where's Harry?" she asked, because she couldn't see him and Castle hadn't told her he was anywhere else. Gryffindor Tower, asleep after the fight. The Great Hall, making up for a year's lack of proper meals…

"That man of yours, Severus," Grandpa said instead. "He's quite taken with you."

Hermione looked at him, eyebrows drawing together. It wasn't like him to ignore a question _or_ go off on a tangent.

"He came out of the sky," Grandpa said. His eyes were distant with memory. He didn't quite frown, but she wasn't sure it was a good memory.

"He was quite the sight after you were hit by that last curse," Mrs. Weasley said. She was across the ward sitting next to George's (or Fred's) bed. She was knitting by hand, which was strange to see. Fred (or George) sat in the other chair, his head tipped comically back so that she could mostly just see his neck and part of his gaping mouth while he slept.

"Severus?" Hermione asked.

"I've never seen him so mad," Mr. Weasley said from beside Ron's bed.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked again.

"He's dead, Hermione."

Ron's cheek was swollen and red-purple. He had a bandage beside his ear and a fabulous shiner.

"Harry's dead," he said. He told her the rest slowly, like he wasn't sure she could handle it but wanted to tell her anyway: Harry had gone to the Ministry—allowed in because he was Harry Potter, the Chosen One—while they were all busy fighting at the safe houses or sitting in the hospital wing. He'd talked to Hagrid after he'd returned to the castle. Dumbledore's portrait had told him where to find the vial of basilisk venom in the potions supply cupboard, and Harry had brought it to Gryffindor Tower to drink. Hagrid was inconsolable ever since; he hadn't realized Harry had stopped by to say _good-bye_.

Ron stared at the ceiling while he told it. Everybody else was silent.

Hermione cried, big wet sobs that drained her of everything but the grief.

\\\

Hermione woke again and it was dark. Ron and Fred were sitting beside George's bed, the three of them talking softly. Severus sat next to her bed, his eyes trained on her face.

"Minerva and I removed Dumbledore's portrait from the office."

"Good."

"I don't know if it could have been avoided. Any of it. Dumbledore—"

"Let's not talk about it anymore."

He reached out and took her hand.

* * *

TWO WEEKS LATER

There didn't seem to be much to do.

Oh, there were things to do. Too much to do some days, in fact. Severus couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been pulled fifteen directions at once, though, so he found himself better rested than he'd been in years.

Minerva was made Headmistress, Pomona was made Deputy. Madam Pince returned to the castle, much to the relief of DaVita. Severus took particular pleasure dumping Pandian's lesson plans in the bin (the ones she'd tidily stacked on the desktop for him to continue teaching the students once he resumed his post as Professor of Defense) when she'd stopped by the classroom that was his again to retrieve a forgotten book.

He was in his office, frowning at his own lesson plans and thinking about the school curricula at large. There were so many changes that could be made, and it was the ideal time for it. Minerva had suggested making Muggle Studies mandatory for second years ages ago; Burbage wouldn't take much convincing once they got her back from Barbados (or Guam or Belize, or wherever Pomona had stashed her—the answer changed each time).

That was when his mother walked in.

"You let me hate you," she said. He got his sneer from her. Hers looked much more put-upon than he'd ever managed, but she had that overall air of the down-trodden working in her favor.

He immediately felt horrible. And guilty. Horribly guilty.

"Mum," he said, part greeting and part protest. He'd missed out on most of the explain-it-to-the-parents conversations since he'd been sitting vigil by Hermione's bed; Minerva and Poppy had conducted a few hissed conversation with his mum and Hermione's family, and to his knowledge they had all carried on ignoring the outstanding questions and the conversations that would eventually need to happen.

" _You let me hate you._ HOW could you let me _hate_ you?"

"For the greater good." The words leapt out of his mouth, and he wanted to curse them away. Un-say them.

Sometimes, he opened his mouth and Dumbledore came out.

She slapped him. It didn't hurt; she'd used her bad arm, the crooked one. But he _felt_ it like he wouldn't have felt a proper slap.

"How long?"

"What?" He put his hand to his cheek and rubbed.

" _How long_ were you a spy? What made you stop being a bloody-minded fool?"

He smirked, then frowned. After a moment, he sat in one of the guest chairs and indicated she should sit in the other.

"Mum, I—" He cleared his throat. "I was _always_ a spy, Mum. From the beginning."

She stared at him. She might as well have been made of stone.

"Dumbledore asked me one Christmas. Out by the lake." He had to look away. He refused to stare down at his hands clasped in his lap, so he glared at the stack of books he'd yet to shelve. "I was perfectly positioned to tip either way, you see. My hatred for my Muggle father was well known, as was my… _proclivity_ for the Dark Arts, yet my best friend was a Gryffindor."

There was a little boy inside of him shrieking—"Don't be mad, Mummy! I did a good thing. _Really_ , I did." That little boy wanted both to go and hide from her, and to be hugged by her so tight it felt like she'd never let go.

Severus told his inner child to shut the fuck up.

"Lily Evans was your best friend. She lived down the way."

"Yes."

"I'd heard you provided the information that got her killed."

Severus raised an eyebrow. He hadn't known that she'd been aware of that. It made him wonder what else Dumbledore had told her. She'd had some part in the Order, after all, running a safe house. What more?

"Yes. That was Dumbledore's gambit." He wanted to pace, but he forced himself to stay seated. "Dangle a prophecy in front of the Dark—in front of Riddle and see if he took the bait. See if he'd play into Dumbledore's hands. If he was going after a known target, Dumbledore could plan for his downfall."

"It didn't work," she said.

"It didn't work as quickly as we'd all assumed he'd meant it to."

His mother surged to her feet and began to pace, her movements jerky, angry.

He'd inherited that from her, too. Pacing.

"You—he—the _entire time_ —SEVERUS!"

He held up his hands only to be interrupted by the spasm and surge of Castle as it called the Warden back.

* * *

"You want to dance? Fine, bitch. Let's dance."

It had been nearly a week since the last attack; the Death Eaters had been broken as a group, but a surprising number of them were still at large. Since the fight at the safe house, there had only been one attack and it had been on Muggles.

Hermione felt she should have expected the attack. She couldn't leave the castle without some mention of it in the papers, and she'd made the mistake of being overheard talking about plans to bring her parents and grandparents into Hogsmeade the last time she'd been at the Ministry.

Gretchen Goyle—Gregory Goyle's mother—was not one of the Death Eaters who had been at the safe house. She hadn't even been at the so-called Battle of Hogwarts. In fact, Hermione hadn't heard a thing about the other witch. She was broad enough and with her son's eyes, so Hermione recognized her, but otherwise she was just a name on a list. From the obscenity that had been hurled her way, Hermione supposed she wasn't just a name on a list to Mrs. Goyle.

All the glass from the nearest storefront shattered and flew at her. Hermione turned it to sand. The grains pelted her, stinging, but they didn't pierce her skin. She called up a whirlwind and set the sand in Goyle's direction, looking around for her next play.

A Tripping Jinx bounced harmlessly off a Shield Charm, though the sand had pelted on through. Hermione followed-up with less innocent spells, but the only thing that had any affect was when a _Reducto_ impacted the ground just beyond the line of the Shield Charm, blasting up cobbles and mortar.

Hermione looked around for her family. They'd been leaving the Three Broomsticks when Mrs. Goyle had shouted at her, called her a Mudblood. She'd shoved at her parents, trying to get them back into the pub before the spells flew.

In her moment of distraction, Goyle struck out with some unfamiliar curse. The flash of the spell was mustard yellow; Hermione's hasty Shield Charm blocked the spell itself, but the impact on the shield sent her flying backwards, spinning. She crashed into the side of the nearest building.

Head spinning, Hermione didn't let herself settle. If she stopped, she'd be able to feel that impact. If she stopped, she might not get back up. If she stopped, Goyle would have the chance she needed.

Hermione threw as much mayhem up around them as she could. She cast spells that would ricochet off Goyle's Shield Charm with flashes of light or smoke. The air quickly filled with the burnt smells of mis-cast spells and the sulfuric char of spells on a Shield. Dust and bits of debris floated around them too, as Goyle's charms went wide and hit the road and sides of buildings.

Hermione Summoned the door, loose on its hinges from a Slicing Hex, behind Goyle, and it soared toward her. She'd always been good at that charm. The door smacked into Goyle broadside, and the witch went down.

Like a hydra, three more Death Eaters (or _former_ Death Eaters?) sprung up to replace her. They'd obviously been expecting something different, because they'd Apparated into the space beyond Goyle in a triangle, all of them facing each other. When they realized there was nobody between them, they spun around, wands held up and ready. They were panicky, though. Off their game. Hermione didn't recognize any of their faces.

The first was easy enough to Stun, but then they knew she was there. Two-against-one was far less manageable than one-on-one had been. Hermione cast Shield Charms, angling the domes of protection so that spells from one bounced off toward the other. They figured it out after a moment, but it bought her the time she needed to think of a different plan.

Running, moving, dodging. Stay between them, keep them from throwing their worst at her for fear of hitting their accomplice. Ignore the way it hurt to breathe; it was unimportant. An _Incarcerous_ here, then drop and roll. A Shield Charm, then spin around in time to cast _Levicorpus_ as the first broke through her conjured ropes. Conjure her canaries and set them on the one hanging from his ankle; keep him busy while she leapt behind the gate—somebody's garden?—and then _Reducto_.

She was hovering the Baleworm Vine she'd landed on in the garden up over the gate, not only to keep it from going for her ankles but to give the Death Eaters something to deal with while she thought of what to do next, when the Aurors arrived. They introduced strange elements of organized chaos to her mayhem. Billowing white smoke, screaming bagpipes, and the static-y tingle of Anti-Apparation wards.

"Granger?" Travis Clements, one of the Aurors assigned to track down Death Eaters. Ron had been trying to join his section since his N.E.W.T.s had been waived, but Clements only took experienced Aurors. Hermione had met him at least twice in the furor of trials and meetings she'd been a part of since she'd been released from the hospital wing; she'd liked him.

"Clements, if I find out you used me as bait, I will personally geld you!" Hermione shouted. She stood and swung herself over the fence back onto the road, then strode through the fog toward the sound of Clements' surprised laugh.

"Don't be ridiculous."

A flash of white light, and then a bang.

"Don't get spell-'appy!" a wizard in a tweed jacket and shiny green dragonskin shoes said, waving his wand defensively and holding onto an old fashioned camera (tucked protectively beneath one arm). "Just doin' me job. Quote for the _Prophet_ , Auror Clements? What about you, Miss Granger?"

"Bugger off," Hermione snarled. The photographer-cum-reporter smirked at her and tipped his hat (one of those newsboy sorts favored by grandfathers with trim mustachios) before sauntering off into the dissipating fog.

"He's going to put that in the evening edition. I'd put money on it."

"You're probably right."

"What were you thinking, coming out here by yourself?" Clements had an obnoxious way of sounding like a worried big brother. He was worse than Harry and Ron put together. Not as bad as Severus, though.

"I wasn't by myself. I was in the middle of town."

"You're bleeding."

" _She's_ unconscious."

Clements just scowled at her, turning away to direct his Aurors for a moment.

"You're welcome, by the way," Hermione said.

"Wasn't going to thank you."

"Because doing so would prove that you'd used me as bait?"

"Because doing so would imply that I needed you to step in and beat the crap out of a gang of former Death Eaters."

"Well I didn't do that for you; I did that for me."

"You're impossible, you are. Go back up to the castle like a good little Warden. You'll be all over the paper in no time; you don't want to get caught out where the rest of the press can get to you."

"Ah, yes. The big bad press. Whatever shall I do about them?"

"Well, you can't hex them unless they hex you first. I looked it up in the big book of rules. Skeeter was sniffing after… never you mind. Get back up to the castle."

"What sort of proof do you need for the hexing thing? Pensieve evidence, or eye-witness testimonial? What if there are no witnesses?"

"Get out of here, Granger," Clements growled, though he looked amused. "You're distracting the men."

"Am not."

"I expect a written statement of what happened here from you. Owl it to me by the end of the day or I'll send somebody to drag you out of the Great Hall in the most dramatic and interfering way possible."

"I'd like to see you try it." The smirk on her face turned into a full grin.

One of the Aurors barked out a laugh, and Clements glared at him.

"There's blood on your teeth, Granger," he said, tone sobering. "Go back to the castle."

Hermione nodded, her humor failing as well. The adrenalin was gone, and she could feel the fight. Her ribs hurt, especially when she inhaled. Her head spun every few heartbeats. She was fairly certain she'd broken the pinky on her right hand, her wand hand. Her palms and knees were scraped up, as were her elbows and her right shoulder. The robe she'd been wearing had begun the day as a nice pale gray, on over very light blue jeans and a white button-up. There were holes in all her clothes, not just from her scrapes but from the spots where spells had burned their way through after near-hits.

"My family was in the Three Broomsticks. They're Muggles. Will you get them back to the castle?" she asked.

"Of course," Clements said, making a gesture at one of his Aurors. The woman nodded and hurried around the corner to the pub.

Hermione nodded her thanks and let Castle pull her back. She wasn't at all surprised when it dumped her directly into the hospital wing.

"What happened to _you_?" Poppy asked, gaping at her.

"Got in a fight with an ambulatory Devil's Snare."

"A what?"

"Don't worry about it," Hermione said. Her mouth was running away with her; she probably had a head injury. Again.

Poppy directed her to a bed and busied herself with the privacy screens while Hermione sat and began the laborious process of removing the pale gray robe. It was a complete loss, unfortunately. She'd liked that robe.

The jeans would be salvageable as gardening-wear. The knees looked a bit gruesome at the moment, what with her scraped-up kneecaps leaking blood all over the edges of the tears. There was a bit of gravel stuck in her left knee; she picked at it absently, ignoring the way it stung her scraped-up hands and made her knee burn.

"Stop that this instant," Poppy said, smacking her hand away.

"There's a bit of gravel in my knee."

"So you don't _pick_ at it. Merlin, girl." Poppy neatly Summoned the gravel straight up out of the (red and irritated) scrape in her knee. "Tell me what happened while I fix you up. Did you fall into somebody's garden?"

Poppy picked a bit of leaf out of Hermione's hair. Hermione began to shrug, but aborted the gesture halfway because it made her ribs hurt more.

"We were leaving the Three Broomsticks. Mrs. Goyle jumped me. I won that one, but then three more showed up I was about to lose that one, but the Aurors showed up. Clements told me to come here. He sent an Auror back for my family."

"You have a concussion. And two broken ribs. And two broken fingers. Not to mention all these abrasions, a few contact burns."

"I think I'd like a nap."

"I'll bet you would."

Six potions, several droppers full of Essence of Dittany, and a bit of wand-waving later, Hermione was allowed to go to the ward's bathroom and change into the familiar square blue-striped pajamas. She would've preferred being allowed to leave so that she could find her own bed (Severus's), but the idea of beginning that conversation was too exhausting to actually contemplate. She put the pajamas on and crawled between the sheets of the bed farthest from the door.

The door banged open just as she'd begun to get comfortable. Hermione rolled off the far side of the bed, dropping down so that the mattress could provide cover. She'd had her wand beneath her pillow, easy to reach.

"Severus! What _are_ you doing? Lunatic. Storming in here like a bat out of hell—"

"Where is she?" he asked, voice deep and intense. It curled through Hermione and was comforting even though it had no reason to be. "What's happened to Hermione?"

"She was attacked in Hogsmeade."

"Yes, I'd heard as much."

Severus had spotted her and begun making his way down the ward to her. His mother was behind him, lingering a ways back. Her own parents and grandparents arrived via Floo one after the other with their Auror escort coming through behind them.

Severus's eyes were intent on Hermione, but she couldn't meet them. He was angry with her. That was always his first reaction when she ended up in danger. Hermione sighed and let her wand fall to her side as she stood up from her crouched-and-ready position.

"Four Death Eaters in as many minutes. And she all but bagged them herself. Destroyed the bloody street," the Auror who'd escorted her family back said.

"Got herself a concussion for her troubles," Madam Pomfrey said petulantly, and Hermione frowned. That was a warning not to shake her if she'd ever heard one. It didn't seem fair, the mediwitch siding with Severus in his anger. "And several broken ribs."

"Just two," Hermione corrected.

Her mother whimpered. The Auror seemed to decide it was a conversation she'd rather not take part in, and nodded to Hermione before she Flooed back to the Three Broomsticks.

Severus had stopped at the foot of her bed, staring at her in that dark way of his. She stared at her pillow. Madam Pomfrey huffed and went into her office.

"I don't want you to leave the castle anymore."

"I thought you said I won the fight."

"You could have been killed."

"I could be killed here just as easily. There are so many flights of stairs to fall down, you know."

"Hermione. I'm serious."

"So am I!"

"No. You're not."

Of course she wasn't. Castle wouldn't let her fall down any _stairs_.

"I'm not going to hide away in the castle. I'm not a damsel who needs a tower."

"That would be easier," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose the way he always did when he had a headache. Or when he was stressed. She frowned at him, because her injury had obviously stressed him and that annoyed her. She was fine. It was just that her head was swimming—probably floating in the soup of all those potions she'd taken—and her eyes couldn't quite focus. "Come along."

"I'm supposed to go to bed."

"You are going to bed."

"This is the bed I'm going to." She pointed at it.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Oh." She blinked. She could've sworn that was the bed Madam Pomfrey had put her in. The sheets were a mess already and everything. She was quite sure. "Are you sure?"

"Come along, Hermione."

Hermione frowned, but let him take her by the hand and lead her out of the hospital wing. They walked past his mother, who watched them without a word. They walked past her grandparents, who seemed to think she'd done something sweet; they had that you're-so-cute look that had featured so prominently in her early childhood photo albums on. They walked past her mum, who was too pale, and her dad, who was grinning.

"I think I might like this bloke after all," Dad said, but they were out of the hospital wing and headed for Severus's rooms before Hermione could hear any responses.

* * *

A/N: And there's a punchy Hermione for you. That fight in Hogsmeade was initially slated as a precursor to the "Battle of Hogwarts," but it just didn't fit.

Next up, all those postponed conversations with The Parents. (Any suggestions on that front are welcome; it's one of the most highly-edited and revisited sections of this story on my part...)

Thank you for reading. I don't say it often enough, but I really, really appreciate all the feedback I get. The notifications when somebody follows/favorites/reviews/what-have-you make my day.


	48. Chapter 48

FORTY-SIX

"Severus," Kingsley said, sitting down across the desk. Hermione looked up from her book in the corner; she'd only half been paying attention to the room around her but the arrival of the Minister for Magic (interim or not) was worth noticing.

"Shacklelbolt," Severus said without looking up. He was mapping out the changes he'd wanted to make at Hogwarts for years. He hadn't stopped talking about it since Harry's funeral. Second years would have a mandatory Muggle Studies class in place of History of Magic. History of Magic would be taught by a corporeal being who could actually control the classroom and would teach something beyond the goblin wars (Binns was free to continue lecturing to the desks as he had for decades; he would hardly notice if they were occupied or not.) There would be class periods set aside each semester to cover the crossover between classes, Potions to Herbology, Charms to Defense. It was brilliant.

"Hello, Kingsley," Hermione said pleasantly, because Severus was too distracted to be polite.

"Hermione," Kingsley said, smiling warmly at her. He looked between the two of them, curiosity in his eyes, but he didn't say anything. Hermione just smiled at him. Severus raised an eyebrow, then returned to his parchment. "I'm glad you're here. I have something for you as well."

"Shouldn't you be off running the world?" Severus asked. Hermione fought the inclination to get up and smack him.

"Be polite, Severus," Eileen said sharply from the sitting room. She glared through the doorway.

"I am here to deliver your Orders of Merlin," Kingsley said, pressing on. Severus's quill finally stopped moving.

"Orders of Merlin?" Eileen echoed from the sitting room.

"We were going to hold a proper ceremony," Kingsley said. "However, there have been too many attacks to risk it. You were attacked in _Hogsmeade_. And then the Bainbridge funeral…"

Hermione nodded. It had been a massacre. A funeral for the elderly Mr. Bainbridge, a death entirely unrelated to the war, had ended with the Dark Mark above the cemetery and a long day for the Obliviators.

Kingsley nodded solemnly and handed them each little velvet bags with heavy medallions inside. Hermione watched Severus open his first; he'd coveted the recognition inherent in the award for longer than she'd been alive.

His face was surprisingly blank. His left eyebrow twitched ever so slightly, but he was otherwise impassive.

"Order of Merlin, First Class," Kingsley said, smiling widely. "For both of you. You more than deserve it."

"Thank you," Hermione said.

"We are the ones who need to thank _you_ , and this is the best way I'm able to do it."

"They're still likely to call for another trial," Severus said, but he didn't take his eyes off the Order of Merlin.

"They are calling for _many_ trials," Kingsley said. "That's the other half of the reason for my visit. I'd like to ask you to sit on the Wizengamot."

"The _Wizengamot_ ," Eileen repeated from the sitting room. Kingsley ignored her.

"Most of the standing Wizengamot is in holding cells. We need… 'wizards of caliber' is the phrase Arcturus keeps throwing around," Kingsley said.

\\\

Kingsley left an hour later, and the room was too quiet. Hermione knew what she'd say if they were alone, but they weren't. Eileen had watched the whole conversation from the doorway like it was a spectator sport. Her family had listened, too, though they'd been out of sight in Severus's sitting room.

"As if I don't have enough to do already," Severus said once Kingsley was gone.

"And yet you agreed," she said, smirking. He shrugged one shoulder.

"I know the witch doctor told us not to mention it, but—"

" _Mum_."

"What? She's a witch who's a doctor, isn't she?"

"I _know_ you know she's a mediwitch. You're being deliberately rude."

" _Hermione_ ," Grandma said sharply.

Hermione frowned at her grandmother for a moment before she turned to her mother with a strained smile pulling at her lips. "What is it Poppy told you not to mention?"

" _This_ ," Mum said, gesturing back and forth between Hermione and Severus.

"What?" Hermione asked, looking to Severus. He raised an eyebrow at her like she was being particularly dense.

"She's wondering why you're casually flirting with the man twice your age whose mother has been telling horror stories about him for the past year," Severus said, eyes back on the parchments spread across his desk.

"No. That's because you're sleeping together," Mum said, voice flat.

"Poppy _told_ you that?"

"She was quite touched with the story of it," Mum said.

"She likes you," Eileen said. "The both of you."

" _That_ is the part I want explained," Mum said.

"Excuse me?" asked Severus.

" _Why_. You were his student, yet the staff of this _school_ seem perfectly accepting of the relationship in spite of it!"

"Mrs. Granger—"

"No, no," Mum said, waving a hand like she was trying to clear the air. "Honestly, I can see past it too, alarming as _that_ is."

"Mum…"

"It's this place. The _magic_. The… All of it. It's impossible."

Without actually moving, Castle sort of _shifted_ around them. It almost seemed offended.

"Don't take it _personally_ ," Severus said, looking at the wall next to him. "It's strange to _me_ and I'm Master of the Castle."

"I didn't—" Mum started, but Hermione waved her off.

"He was talking to Castle."

"He what?"

"Castle," Severus said. "The castle."

"You were talking to the castle."

"Yes." Severus turned his attention back to his parchments.

"You aren't helping," Hermione told him.

"There is nothing to be said," he said. "She is uncomfortable with magic; most parents of Muggle-born student are. Nothing I would say might change her mind. She is uncomfortable with Castle; I cannot change how it works. She is uncomfortable with you and me; I don't blame her, but I also don't plan to make any changes."

"Severus," Eileen said, chastising. He raised an eyebrow in her direction.

"Dad," Hermione said, trying to interrupt the battle of surly looks. "What do _you_ think?"

"About which part?"

"Any of it."

"Magic is both fascinating and impossible," he said diplomatically. "And, as I said before, the professor has been growing on me."

"I've asked you to call me Severus," Severus said.

"Severus," Dad echoed, smiling a bit.

"Is the fight over, then?" Grandpa asked, interrupting the growing tension.

"Excuse me?" Severus asked.

"The fight," Grandpa said. "The war."

"Hard to say," Severus replied.

"There's no more leadership," Hermione said thoughtfully, "but so far that's just made the Death Eaters who are left more violent."

"Getting their kicks while they can," Severus said bitterly. He tapped his fingers on his stacked parchments and they rolled into a neat scroll. "They expect to be caught. They plan to go down fighting."

"The worst sort of men," Eileen said darkly. Severus looked at her, and Hermione almost thought he was resisting the inclination to put on a guilty face and let her paint him with the rest of them.

"And they're _wizards_ ," Mum said.

"These sorts of men are everywhere," Grandpa said. "Wizard or not. People are people, and not all of them are particularly good."

"Our part in the fighting is over," Hermione said. "We have things to do here. The Aurors will take care of the rest."

* * *

Classes resumed on the first of February. Many students didn't return. Some students who hadn't been to Hogwarts since Dumbledore's funeral were back, though. Severus added his name to the list of professors who were willing to tutor O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students in their subjects over the summer free of charge so that they could keep up with their studies despite the horrible year.

Hermione had opted to study for her N.E.W.T.s independently. She'd cut out a corner for herself in his office and spent her evenings studying; she slept in his bed.

The trials were ongoing. It was strange to be a part of them, sitting among venerable wizards and speaking to the crimes presented before them. He couldn't decide if it was stranger to return from the Ministry to relieve Minerva from proctoring his class, or to go to the Ministry as a member of the Wizengamot in the first place.

Hermione's grandparents had gone back to their lives, wherever that meant. There had been hugs and handshakes. The grandparents _liked_ him, which was absurd. He'd never been the sort of man other peoples' relatives liked.

Her parents had gone back to London, staying in a hotel and looking for a new house. The Ministry had rebuilt the old one (erasing all traces of magical damage in keeping with the Statute of Secrecy), but they hadn't thought it was a good place to go back to. Hermione visited them, tried to help, but she usually returned to Hogwarts grouchy. Her dad liked him, thought he was "a decent enough bloke," though he also seemed to think Severus was a phase Hermione might get over. Her mum did _not_ like him, and, really, Severus was more comfortable with it that way. (Truthfully, her discomfort probably stemmed from his being a wizard more than anything else.)

Both her parents and her grandparents had a Hit Wizard as a guard, though neither couple knew it.

* * *

"I'm going to throw up."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"No, I really might," she said. He rolled his eyes at her, but she ignored him.

"Hermione," he said, the tolerant patience in his voice grating on her nerves, "you are being absurd."

"I can't help it."

Hermione got up and dumped her tea. Even the smell of it turned her stomach.

Her N.E.W.T. scores would arrive any minute. Even after fighting a war, it seemed like everything hung on those results. Her entire future. She supposed she could take Filch's position, as was almost traditional for the Warden, but she'd hoped to… Well. She didn't want to hope too hard before she knew one way or the other.

"Are you sure you don't want to visit your parents today?" he asked, trying to distract her. All the idea did was make her stomach turn all over again.

Bringing her family to Hogwarts hadn't gone particularly well. She'd hoped—expected—they'd be as in awe of it as she had been the first time she'd been to the castle. She'd thought it would make magic real for them in a way that it never had been before. She'd been right, and she'd been wrong.

She didn't know how to talk to them about any of it.

Instead of facing the problem—problem _s_ —they'd pretended it hadn't existed and gotten on with life. Her parents had rented a flat for the time being, and begun preparing to reopen their practice. Her grandparents had gone home.

"I'd rather visit _your_ mum."

Severus sighed, frowning at her. (He thought it was odd how easily she'd got on with his mother.)

Before they could get into another argument about their struggles with their families, her scores arrived. Severus took one look at her and snatched the parchment from the owl, which nipped at him but missed. Severus ignored it until it (huffily) flew off, then opened the envelope.

"Well?" she asked, dreading the answer. She'd been on the run for almost a full year before she'd taken the tests. She'd missed so much in-class practice time. She'd barely gotten any studying done, what with the funerals and the arguing with her mother and the nights spent sitting in the dark simply grieving for it all. It had been so stupid of her to think she could take it on. Neville had opted to wait, to study independently, to take a few of the summer courses the professors were putting on, and then take the exams in August.

Severus hummed, eyes darting across the page. He didn't say anything.

" _Well_?"

They'd had a plan. He had all the paperwork ready for her apprenticeship in Potions, but she had to have N.E.W.T. results before they could move forward with it. If she didn't receive at least an Exceeds Expectations in Potions and an Acceptable in Arithmancy, she wouldn't be able to continue her studies.

If she didn't do well, the entire plan went to pot. If the plan went to pot, the whole idea of the future she'd been hoping for vanished.

"Hermione, you did well," Severus said. He was right in front of her. His eyes, dark and blank before, were molten and gentle.

"I—what?"

"You did well. Of _course_ you did well."

"Of course," she repeated, barely a whisper.

"Ridiculous woman," he said, kissing her forehead and turning the parchment so she could see her results.

Outstandings in everything. Even Defense.

"I… I did it."

"Of course you did."

"I _did_ it."

He kissed her.

* * *

EPILOGUE

Hermione put on her best Angry Potions Mistress face and strode down the street toward Wheezes. A few students saw her and took an involuntary step back; she had to keep herself from smiling.

"George!" she said, jerking the door closed behind her. "Fred!"

"Ah, Professor Granger," Fred said, a smile stretching across his freckled face.

"Term's only been out, what, four days?" George said. "You're early this year."

"I'd like a word," Hermione said, doing her best impression of Severus.

They bowed like some high court gentlemen and gestured her up the stairs.

"Well?" Fred asked eagerly once they were in private.

"I _think_ I've sorted out the anemia issue with the Nose-Bleed Nougat," she said.

\\\

Severus's raven Patronus arrived just after dark. The three of them had takeout boxes from Fred's favorite Thai place spread around them, and she and George had been arguing potion interaction. The raven flew through the window, and they'd all flinched like they'd expected the glass to shatter.

" _Come back. Now._ "

"Bossy wanker," Fred said, scooping up the spilled food and making a face at the sauce smudged on the parchment beneath.

"He can't last four hours without you?" George said, rolling his eyes.

"What, did you leave him with the baby?"

"You're the one with the toddler at home, not me," Hermione said, grinning. " _My_ children left four days ago."

"What's he freaking out about, then?"

"The baby," Hermione said, laughing when they both looked at her askance.

"Baby?" they said at once, not quite in sync so that it sounded like an echo.

"Castle."

"The castle?"

"Castle is a big, stone baby."

"You're talking about _Hogwarts_ castle?"

"It mopes after the children leave. Sulks. _Broods_." Hermione smirked. "I thought Severus was a brooder, but… Merlin. Last year, it decided it was going to stop all the pipes. No water whatsoever. It wasn't _funny_ , Fred. _Aguamenti_ wouldn't even work."

"That's hilarious," George said.

"It isn't even that it wants the children to come back. It knows how summer works. It just… gets sad."

" _Right now, Hermione_ ," Severus's second Patronus said. It was odd to hear a raven growl.

"Do you think it stopped the water again?" Fred asked, entirely failing to repress his smile.

"No."

"No?" George asked. "Why not? That's the _perfect_ prank."

"The castle has stood for eons. It doesn't repeat things." Then she remembered. "No. That's not true. It likes to lock me in the library. _That_ trick got old before my apprenticeship was over, I'll tell you that much."

"You are kinda synonymous with the library, Hermione."

"That's not… That's not why…" She sighed. "It's a long story."

The twins' grins were almost predatory. Hermione raised her eyebrows at them, and then let Castle pull her back.

Severus stood in the entrance hall. His hair was back in its usual knot, but that was the only normal thing about his appearance. He leaned forward, arms crossed on the hilt of an enormous broadsword. He wore the centerpiece suit of armor from the Warden's Armory, golden shoulder pieces gleaming in the candlelight. And a long black cape.

He looked brilliantly, casually dramatic.

And also ridiculous.


	49. Alternate Ending

NINETEEN YEARS LATER

Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first of September was crisp and golden as an apple, and as the little family bobbed across the rumbling road toward the great sooty station the fumes of car exhaust and the breath of pedestrians sparkled like cobwebs in the cold air. Two large cages rattled on top of the laden trolleys the parents were pushing; the owls inside them hooted indignantly, and the redheaded girl trailed tearfully behind her brothers, clutching her father's arm.

"It won't be long and you'll be going, too," Ron told her.

"Two years," sniffed Rosie. "I want to go _now_!"

The commuters stared curiously at the owls as the family wove its way toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Hugo's voice drifted back to Ron over the surrounding clamor; his sons had resumed the argument they had started in the car.

"I _won't_! I _won't_ be in Slytherin!"

"Harry, give it a rest!" said Katie.

"I only said he _might_ be," said Harry, grinning at his younger brother. "There's nothing wrong with that. He _might_ be in Slyth—"

But Harry caught his mother's eye and fell silent. The five Weasleys approached the barrier. With a slightly cocky look over his shoulder at his younger brother, Harry took the trolley from his mother and broke into a run. A moment later, he had vanished.

"You'll write to me, won't you?" Hugo asked his parents immediately, capitalizing on the momentary absence of his brother.

"Every day, if you want us to," said Katie.

"Not _every_ day," said Hugo quickly. "Harry says most people only get letters from home about once a month."

"We wrote to Harry three times a week last year," said Katie.

"And you don't want to believe everything he tells you about Hogwarts," Ron put in. "He likes a laugh, your brother."

Side by side, they pushed the second trolley forward, gathering speed. As they reached the barrier, Hugo winced, but no collision came. Instead, the family emerged onto platform nine and three-quarters, which was obscured by thick white steam that was pouring out of the Hogwarts Express. Indistinct figures were swarming through the mist, into which Harry had already disappeared.

"Where are they?" asked Hugo anxiously, peering at the hazy forms that passed as they made their way down the platform.

"We'll find them," Katie said reassuringly.

But the vapor was dense, and it was difficult to make out anybody's faces. Detached from their owners, voices sounded unnaturally loud.

"I think that's them, Hugh," said Katie suddenly.

A group of four people emerged from the mist, standing alongside the very last carriage. Their faces only came into focus when Ron, Katie, Rose, and Hugo had drawn right up to them.

"Hi," said Hugo, sounding immensely relieved.

Roxanne, who was already wearing her brand-new Hogwarts robes, beamed at him.

"Parked alright, then?" Fred asked Ron. "I did. Angelina didn't believe I could pass a Muggle driving test, did you? She thought I'd have to Confund the examiner."

"No, I didn't," said Angelina, "I had complete faith in you."

"As a matter of fact, I _did_ Confund him," Fred whispered to Ron, as together they lifted Hugo's trunk and owl onto the train. "I only forgot to look in the wing mirror."

Back on the platform, they found Rose and Will, Roxanne's younger brother, having an animated discussion about which House they would be sorted into when they finally went to Hogwarts.

"If you're not in Gryffindor, we'll disinherit you," said Fred, "but no pressure."

" _Fred_!"

Rose and Will laughed, but Hugo and Roxanne looked solemn.

"He doesn't mean it," said Angelina.

Catching Ron's eye, Fred nodded covertly to a point some fifty yards away. The steam had thinned for a moment, and three people stood in sharp relief against the shifting mist.

"Look who it is."

Draco Malfoy was standing there with his wife and son, a dark coat buttoned up to his throat. His hair was receding somewhat, which emphasized the pointed chin. The new boy resembled Draco as much as Hugo resembled Ron. Draco caught sight of Fred and Ron staring at him, nodded curtly, and turned away again.

"So that's little Scorpius," said Ron under his breath. "Make sure you beat him in every test, Hugh. Thank God you inherited your mother's brains."

"Ron, for heaven's sake," Katie said, half stern, half amused. "Don't try to turn them against each other before they've even started school!"

"You're right, sorry," said Ron, but unable to help himself, he added, "Don't get _too_ friendly with him, though, Hugo. Granddad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a Pureblood."

"Hey!"

Harry had reappeared; he had divested himself of his trunk, owl and trolley, and was evidently bursting with news.

"Teddy's back there," he said breathlessly, pointing back over his shoulder into the billowing clouds of steam. "Just seen him! And guess what he's doing? _Snogging Victoire_!"

He gazed up at the adults, evidently disappointed in the lack of reaction.

" _Our_ Teddy! _Teddy Lupin_! Snogging _our_ Victoire! _Our_ cousin! And I asked Teddy what he was doing—"

"You interrupted them?" said Katie. "You are _so_ like your father—"

"—and he said he'd come see her off! And then he told me to go away. He's _snogging_ her!" Harry added as though worried he had not made himself clear.

"Oh, it would be lovely if they got married!" whispered Rose ecstatically. "Teddy would _really_ be part of the family then!"

"He already comes round for dinner about four times a week," said Ron. "Why don't we just invite him to live with us and have done with it?"

"Yeah!" said Harry enthusiastically. "I don't mind sharing with Hugh—Teddy could have my room!"

"You and Hugo will share a room only when I want the house demolished," said Ron firmly. "Besides, I think his parents would have something to say if we tried to adopt him."

He checked his watch, much scuffed and battered since he'd received it for his seventeenth birthday, one of the only brand-new things he'd ever got.

"It's nearly eleven, you'd better get on board."

"Don't forget to give Hermione our love!" Katie told Harry as she hugged him.

"Mum! I can't give a professor _love_!"

"But you _know_ Hermione—"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Outside, yeah, but at school she'd Professor Granger, isn't she? I can't walk into Potions and give her _love_ …"

Shaking his head at his mother's foolishness, he vented his feelings by aiming a kick at Hugo.

"See you later, Hugh. Watch out for the thestrals."

"I thought they were invisible? _You said they were invisible_!"

But Harry merely laughed, permitted his mother to kiss him, gave his father a fleeting hug, then leapt onto the rapidly filling train. They saw him wave, then sprint away up the corridor to find his friends.

"Thestrals are nothing to worry about," Ron told Hugo. "They're gentle things, there's nothing scary about them. Anyway, you won't be going up to school in the carriages, you'll be going in the boats."

Katie kissed Hugo goodbye.

"By, Hugh," said Ron as his son hugged him. "Don't forget Hagrid's invited you to tea next Friday. Don't mess with Peeves. Don't duel anyone till you've learned how. And don't let Harry wind you up."

"What if I'm in Slytherin?"

The whisper was for his father alone, and Ron knew that only the moment of departure could have forced Hugo to reveal how great and sincere that fear was. Ron crouched down so that Hugo's face was slightly above his own.

"Then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student, won't it?" Ron said quietly, so that nobody but Katie could hear and she was tactful enough to pretend to be waving to Roxanne, who was now on the train. "If it matters to you, you'll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account."

"It does?"

"It did for my friend Harry," said Ron.

His children all knew about Harry. His eldest was named after him, and all his best stories had Harry in them. (And Hermione, too, usually, much to her annoyance. She was their teacher now, after all; she didn't like them knowing about all the rules she'd broken or how many years she'd worked for Wheezes.)

But now the doors were slamming all along the scarlet train, and the blurred outlines of parents were swarming forward for final kisses and last-minute reminders. Hugo jumped into the carriage and Katie closed the door behind him. Students were hanging from the windows nearest them. A great number of faces, both on the train and off, seemed to be turned toward their little family.

"Why are they all _staring_?" demanded Hugo as he and Roxanne craned around to look at the other students.

"Don't let it worry you," said Ron.

"It's me," said Fred. "I'm extremely famous."

Hugo, Roxanne, Willian and Rose laughed. The train began to move, and Ron walked alongside it, watching his son's thin face, already ablaze with excitement. Ron kept smiling and waving, even though it was like a little bereavement, watching his son glide away from him…

The last trace of steam evaporated in the autumn air. The train rounded a corner. Ron's hand was still raised in farewell.

"He'll be alright," murmured Katie.

As Ron looked at her, he lowered his hand absentmindedly.

"I know he will."

All was well.

* * *

A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your support over the _months and months_ this story has taken to come together!


End file.
